Second Chances
by Sybl Angelkat
Summary: Guardian angels exist in Spira as well as on Earth. Seymour wakes to find that he has been brought back to Spira after years of torment in the Via Infinito. There are so many unanswered questions: why did he go there instead of the Farplane? What has happened to Spira in his absence? And how has all this been possible?
1. Chapter 1

"So it is you, after all, who will send me. But even after I am gone, Spira's sorrow will prevail."

Those were the last words he said before he vanished in a burst of colors and lights. He felt his corrupt Unsent body dissolving as the Pyreflies surrounded him. The dizzying light show lasted only seconds before he was surrounded in darkness once more. When he regained awareness again, he knew something was terribly wrong.

This wasn't the Farplane.

At first, he couldn't see anything because it was so dark. When his vision finally stopped being blurry, he saw the rainbow flickers of Pyreflies, but they were so dim that they hardly put out any light at all. Puzzled, he tried to touch one that went past only to see it flee away from his hand. There was a feeling of repulsion coming from it. He stared after it, not quite sure why it responded that way. A shiver ran through his body as he realized how cold it was here.

_Cold? I'm not supposed to be cold…_

Despite his heavy silk robe, Seymour felt an icy dampness seeping into his skin. The stone floor he'd been laying on may as well have been a glacier. If he'd still had a heartbeat, it would have been pounding. Realizing how solid he was, he forced himself upright. He felt dizzy doing so and had to lean against a crumbling pillar for support.

_Why do I still have a body? And why does it suddenly feel so heavy?_

His thoughts began to race. Images, dreams, and memories were all jumbled together as he surveyed his surroundings. Where were the waterfalls, the brightness of normal Pyreflies, the serene flowers? Where were all the people who had died before him? Where was his _mother,_ come to think of it? Despite her hearty disapproval of what he had done, he had hoped she was the first person he'd see. Now he wished he could see _any_ friendly face and ask what was going on. Moving on unsteady legs, he began to walk. The Pyreflies would scatter the moment he got too close. Not only were there feelings of repulsion coming from them, there was anger. This dark place had a very unwelcome, hostile feeling to it. He wandered around for what seemed like ages—the dungeon-like structure was enormous and the corridors all linked to each other. It was impossible to tell whether he had made any real progress or if he was just wandering down the same halls over and over again. There were no landmarks to tell him where he was and hardly any light to see by.

_Is there no way out?_

He was getting tired. How long he'd been walking for, he had no idea. Just as he was about to sit down for a minute to rest, he heard a noise coming from the shadows. Instinctively, he reached for his staff only to remember that he didn't have it anymore. He tried to cast a fire spell so that he could at least see what was there, but his palms remained as chilly as the stone around him. Backing away, he hoped that whatever snarling beast lay in the shadows hadn't seen or heard him. Flattening against a wall, he watched the movement out of the corner of his eye and slowed his breath as much as he could. The creature lumbered out of the darkness, its glowing red eyes piercing the gloom. It might have resembled a behemoth in the light, but it wasn't like any of the others Seymour had fought. It was easily twice the size of a regular one. Two more followed behind it. Always having the sensitive nose of the Guado, Seymour choked on the fumes coming off of the creatures—the foul stench of rotting flesh nearly made him pass out. He felt the stone under him vibrate as they lumbered past and hoped for about half a second that he was in the clear. He would have been if the second one hadn't turned its head right at that exact time. Seeing the movement that rippled through his long robes, the beast charged. While Seymour's large frame was impressive, he felt tiny standing near these creatures. He started to run, as three against one was in no way a fair fight without magic, but he soon found himself trapped at the end of one of the hallways. His clawed fingers scratched frantically at the stone walls for any potential exit at all and his widened lavender eyes hoped to see a glowing glyph appear. Nothing happened and the monsters struck the first blow. One wide fistful of claws slammed into him and knocked him face-first into the wall. An explosion of pain made his vision flood white for a second. If the wall hadn't been holding him up, he'd have been smeared all over the stones. The creatures all fell to attacking him, biting, clawing, and occasionally striking him with magic. With nowhere to escape, he was forced to endure their strikes. He fought back, of course, as well as he could, but his strength began to fail him. He hoped that the blackness would take him soon, but he remained acutely aware of every scratch, every pain, and every hit. Even though his body grew sluggish and eventually stopped responding to any command from him, his mind remained alive and torturously active. His throat was raw from having given in and screamed for help, but none came. Eventually, he stopped being able to make any sound at all as the creatures continued to attack his ravaged body. Sprawled on his stomach in the floor, all he could do was curl up and hope that the creatures got tired of him soon. Tears of pain streamed down his damaged cheek through his squeezed-shut eyes and Pyreflies began to surround him.

_I'm being punished…_he thought darkly,_…for all that I've done…that must be why she sent me to this terrible place instead of the Farplane…_

He somehow doubted that Yuna had been responsible for this, though. She didn't seem like the vindictive type—even at the end, he never smelled anger or hatred on her; only pity. He lost rationality after that, however, because the pain was too much to think around. He realized at one point that he was bleeding so much that it was soaking into his robes and spreading in a pool under him. He stopped wondering why he still had blood a second later. The pain blazed fire-hot in his mind's eye, consuming him wholly. He tried to hold onto any pleasant memories he could to try and block it out, but it was useless.

Then, something happened. Through the agony that rendered him motionless, he just barely registered that these mutated fiends were running away. He felt their vibrations retreating, their snarls and growls clearly annoyed at something. And…if he wasn't mistaken…he smelled fear. The hot, bitter stench of adrenaline stung his nose. Previously where there hadn't been much light at all, something blue-white was approaching. Hopefully whatever this new monster was would think him dead—he couldn't possibly be more dead than he was now unless his consciousness was destroyed as well. It was moving much faster than the fiends had, which was very impressive. The white-blue thing streaked past him, giving a vigorous chase to the creatures. It was moving too fast for him to get a good look at it through his mostly-closed eyes, but he could just make out a humanoid form: two arms, two legs, one head. The rest was hidden behind the blazing glow. It must have carried a weapon of some kind because one arm was longer than the other and the creatures screamed horribly when it struck them. A flash of light engulfed each one, instantly dissolving the fiend body and sending the resulting Pyreflies upward. The light creature finally slowed after slaying them and seemed to be looking around. Without being able to see any semblance of eyes, Seymour felt as if it was gazing at him. It approached him slowly, seeming very cautious at first. Then, it knelt next to him. He took a shuddering breath, waiting for the next round of torment.

_No one will come…I am alone…_

He didn't say this out loud because it hurt too much to breathe, let alone speak, but he heard a voice in his ear:

_You're not alone. You've never been alone. Take my hand and we'll leave this place._

Through the haze of light, he could just make out the stretching fingers stopping just short of touching his hand. With what tiny ounce of strength he had left, his own closed around it and he sank into blackness once more. This darkness, however, was kind and restful, so he embraced it. Though the being's light faded, the feeling of gentleness did not. He would later wonder why he'd chosen to trust it. Maybe it was because he'd wandered for ages and hadn't felt a kind touch since his death.

When he finally started to regain consciousness again, he was aware of an immense pressure on his chest. It was rhythmic and very sharp as if someone was pressing into him and putting every ounce of weight on their hands. He was unable to protest, as this hurt even worse than the fiends attacking, but the only sounds he made were involuntary grunts caused by the air forced out of his lungs. There was something like a massive bolt of shock being sent through his body and all of his muscles tightened, singing a chorus of complaints ranging from dull aches to sharp, tear-inducing throbs. A strange flutter twitched under the pressure, something that felt like a bird trying to escape from a cage. Then, there was a hard contraction and he felt his heart give two or three hard pounds as it struggled to beat again. The shock came two or three more times before it finally settled into a more comfortable rhythm. It was pounding hard, though, trying to overcome the blood loss. White magic began to pour through his damaged flesh, paling his veins and knitting together the more mild gashes. In his mind's eye, brilliant colors that he'd never seen before swirled in a dreamlike stroke and he heard music in his ears. This went on for a very long time before the darkness came again.

How long it took for him to truly come to his senses, Seymour couldn't have said. He would only gain the slightest of awareness when the mysterious mage healed him. He couldn't conjure up the willpower or the strength to open his eyes. If he or she spoke to Seymour, he either didn't hear it or couldn't remember. He was in this state for quite some time before he felt his life force returning.

His first real awakening was terribly uncomfortable. Burning with fever, his very skin hurt even in the few places that weren't injured. His mouth was painfully dry and he shook violently with tremors. Though he was as close to the fire as he could be without risking burns, he couldn't seem to get warm enough. His vision was foggy and his breath kept hitching whenever a particularly bad tremor came. He was just lucid enough to notice that both of his hands were bound in gauze. While minor injuries could be healed instantly with white magic, really bad ones could take several days and had to have help. The gashes on his arms and legs didn't pain him as bad as long as he didn't move, but his broken ribs were agony-inducing. He tried to go back to sleep, but he hurt too much. He heard someone approaching but still couldn't look up. The mouth of a bottle grazed his lips and he instinctively seized it with both hands. The result was that his enormous clawed hands landed over a pair of much smaller ones. He drank the water so fast that he nearly choked. The giver tried to pull it back a bit to slow him down, but he had too tight of a grip. It wasn't until the vessel was completely empty that he let go. It wasn't nearly enough—his mouth was still uncomfortably dry and his throat was still tight. More white magic flowed into his body for a few minutes before his nurse brought him another drink. Now satisfied, he lingered on the border of sleep and wakefulness. The smell of sea salt came to him as his mind drifted, then the dusty smell of a place long disused. There was the smoky smell coming from the fire and something else, something he couldn't quite place. There was salty, warm smell of a human there, but it was mixed with something else. It reminded him of the way sentient Unsent smelled, something associated with the Farplane. So….his caregiver was an Unsent as well…

Whoever it was attempted to feed him on several occasions, but he had neither the inclination or the appetite for solid food. It was easier to get him to drink because of the fever, so all of his sustenance soon came from water-based sources like broth or tea. The frequent giving of the strange white magic also continued. In one of his more lucid moments, Seymour wondered which spell it was—he'd _never_ had this happen with any of his own spells. In between the gatherings of minute details like sounds and smells, he dreamed of days past, days that might come, and bizarre events that made no sense. Sometimes he dreamed of a glowing white face with fierce golden eyes and blue-black hair. While this spectral creature was kind enough, she sometimes inflicted pain on him as well. He frequently suffered from nightmares about Sin turning on him once he entered it and of Yuna's party coming back to send him to the dark place. Reality and dream were all scrambled up for the longest time. Then, one bright afternoon, he regained full consciousness.

The light hurt his eyes even though he was in the shade. He raised an arm to shield his face, though that sent a shooting pain through his body. He grunted in pain and struggled to think around it. The throbbing lessened after a second and he was able to look around. Several emotions hit him at once: shock, disappointment, irritation, and a tinge of despair.

_Of all the places I might have ended up, did it have to be Baaj Temple?_

He recognized it even in its state of ruin. Several of the pillars had collapsed, there were holes in the roof, and many of the halls were now impassable because rubble barred their way. Time had not been kind to this place even since he'd come back to retrieve his mother's Fayth statue a long time ago. Only a scant few signs of someone being here now were there: the clumsily built fire that was almost out, the open first-aid kit with a mixture of potion bottles and traditional bandages and antiseptics, the two makeshift beds that were there. Someone had gathered up a great deal of palm fronds and piled them up to help cushion the hardness of the stone floor the slightest bit. Sitting on top a half-broken urn were various food items covered with a makeshift cage to keep out any wild animals that might stray in. A ragged blanket lay crumpled up next to one of the beds and he was covered up with the other one. He saw no sign of his nurse. Taking advantage of this temporary privacy, he conjured up the courage to examine himself. He had no clue where his robe was and it was probably shredded to the point of useless anyway. Clad only in his undergarments, he saw that most of his body was bandaged up. What little skin remained exposed was stained purple, blue, and even green in some places with a mosaic of bruises. The source of his illness, he realized, was probably blood poisoning—the veins along the bandaged wounds were an angry red and obviously inflamed. He was terribly thirsty again and the wet slapping of the waves against the stone docks outside didn't help. His throat was too raw to call for any help. Hoping some of his magic would have regenerated, he tried to cast a healing spell on himself. Nothing happened. He sighed impatiently, then winced at his stupid ribs. The first aid kit couldn't have been more than eight feet or so away, but it was a big challenge in his current state. His eyes locked on the top of an ether bottle and he slowly inched towards it. Biting his lip to keep from screaming, he reached it with the speed of a snail and uncorked it. Draining the glass bottle, he set it back down and waited for the effects to come. The characteristic tingle was ominously absent. He tried again to cast a spell, but nothing happened. Seymour frowned in agitation. Even when he'd been ill before, he'd always been able to do magic even if it was very weak. He couldn't even feel the hidden reserve of power that he usually had. This was a very, very bad sign….

"You shouldn't be up yet—you'll reopen all those cuts," a voice said, almost making him jump out of his skin. He bit back a curse and turned his intense gaze onto the source of the voice. There was a woman standing in the doorway. As bright as the light was that came from outside, she was little more than a plump silhouette. The heavy door creaked shut behind her and he was finally able to see what she looked like. There was almost a feeling of disappointment.

She must have been the one from his dreams, he reasoned, because her skin was very fair. Her hair was the same blue-black, though the black was the dominant color. Her eyes were gold, but they also had a greenish cast. When she stepped into the light, her skin _did_ light up, but only because of how intense the sun was. At first he thought she'd been the glowing white light in the dungeon, but they couldn't be the same person. Besides, how had she gotten him here? He easily weighed between three and four hundred pounds, mostly muscle, and his weight and long limbs would have been very cumbersome to someone so small and round. She came over to help him up, as he was still kneeling by the first-aid box, but he shoved her away roughly.

"Leave me alone," he said defensively, voice ragged from the fever.

"You need to stay still," she insisted, "or you'll break your wounds open again. I had a terrible time bringing you back."

She certainly looked as if it had taken a lot of effort: there were dark circles under her eyes, her cheeks were pale and devoid of any color, and black shirt and silver skirt hung loosely around her frame. He had no sympathy for her, however.

"Why?" he demanded, "I was already Sent—I should be on the Farplane this very minute!"

He noticed the bottle of water she carried and snatched it from her hand. He hated this dried-out feeling he seemed to always have. Though his skin was still sticky with perspiration from the constant spike-break cycle of fever, his insides felt withered and dusty. He always drank as if he would never see water again, but she knew that was from dehydration. It was better than trying to force him to take it which had been the case a few days ago.

"Yes, you should have been," she agreed, "but that's not where you ended up."

"Obviously." His tone was laden with disgust as he set the jug down with a hard bump. She noticed that one of his bandages was in need of changing, but the minute she moved toward him, his cold eyes stayed her steps. She paused uncertainly. During one of his fever dreams, he had knocked her clear across the room even with his severely diminished strength. What harm was he capable of when it was intentional? Maybe she'd wait until he was in a more subdued mood. He was already tiring from simply trying to sit up, but he ignored the weariness for just a bit longer. The familiar coldness that so many people associated with Seymour's demeanor was setting into place. Now that his throat wasn't so dry, it didn't hurt as much to speak.

"So…you've gone to an awful lot of trouble to intercept me from the Farplane," he said, "why bother? Surely there was someone living who could have served your purpose. Lady Yuna, for example."

She looked up at him after fidgeting with the fire, trying to coax it into a bigger flame.

"I would never do that," she said, clearly insulted, "I was only sent in afterward to get you out. Father said that you were in a lot of trouble. Something else did that to you—something really sinister. You've been touched by something very dark, something that wanted you to suffer greatly. And unfortunately, they seemed to have succeeded a little bit."

She retrieved his blanket and draped it around his shoulders since he seemed to have no intention of going back to bed.

"You reformed down there," she told him, her hands lingering on his shoulders for a second or two, "I saw the Pyreflies swarming around when they were reconstructing you, I think. Then I saw the Hellhounds attacking. The way they were going at it, I knew I'd found the right one. I got there as fast as I could."

He stared at her incredulously. She didn't even look like she could handle a piranha or a condor, let alone three huge beasts like that.

"Father helped us get out of the dungeon," she continued, almost breathless, "but I only had enough power to get us here. The rest I had to use to revive you. He told me how, but it was much harder than it looked."

None of it made any sense to him. Pyreflies bringing him back, he supposed, vaguely made sense, as they were made of memories. But he was Sent—why would they bother bringing him back? He was supposed to be at rest. This girl and her "Father" must be very powerful mages, but why would they bring him back? He knew he had an extraordinary amount of power as an Unsent, but there were so many others who were still alive. Lady Yuna and the others had beaten him soundly even in his most powerful form. What he had done would forever be looked upon as an abomination on both Guado and human history. There were some people who believed that even death was not enough, as the accused would only escape from pain, torture, and depression. The realization must have registered on his face, for she said, "What is it?"

"My compliments to you and your father," he finally said with a bitter smile, "wherever he is. There are many in Spira who have been out for my blood. But I have never feared death…I was quite comfortable with it, in fact. By reviving me, you both would punish me by denying me the one thing that gave me power."

Again, she stared at him as if he'd lost his mind though he thought his theory was quite logical. A strange sadness radiated from her large, dark hazel eyes.

"That's not what we want," she said in that strange, quiet voice, "that's not even what Father wants. Yes, you've got plenty to answer for, but not in blood. Someone else did that for you a long, long time ago. You've been given a second chance."

"To do what exactly? I've _lost_ everything!" Temper made his cool, smooth voice hard and jagged, "I can't cast the simplest of spells and I have no connection to my Aeons anymore! What good does that do me?!"

He'd rather suffer with his ribs for all eternity rather than admit this, but the one thing that might have comforted him in his moment of rage and grief might have been Anima. Few knew the real story behind the mysterious dark Aeon that was bound in chains, but he and Anima had a lengthy history. He and Anima had known each other since they day they were born, for Anima had once been his mother. She had been unable to protect him from all the terrible hardships he'd faced and it had been her last-ditch effort to help him. Her frail body had failed, but her powerful spirit had not. No matter what he'd gone through, Seymour had always been able to call her to his side at will. Now, even the most rudimentary comfort was gone. He was truly alone now.

"It does everything," the woman said, snapping him out of his hidden hysteria, "you get to start over. Completely over. Without the Unsent madness clouding your mind and the usual shields you hid behind, you can become what you were always destined to be."

"And what, pray tell, is that?" he asked, clearly annoyed.

"I'm not sure. Father would know."

Seymour wished that this "Father" would show himself so that he could give the guy a piece of his mind. Who did he think he was, bringing him back from the dead? Who was he to say who Seymour should be or what he should do? It was infuriating. So far, only the woman's scent permeated the air. He couldn't smell any other people around.

"Who is this father you speak of?"

A hint of great fondness and affection crept into her voice as she answered him: "The Creator. The real God. Not Yevon like everybody here once thought, though most wouldn't believe me."

Seymour would have face-palmed if both his hand and his head didn't have wounds. That was just great…he was out here in the middle of nowhere with some religious nut. Gathering what was left of his patience, he said (in a very strained calm tone), "I believe you are a very skilled white mage, but that hardly makes you a goddess or a demi-goddess. True divinity is only the stuff of legends."

"I never said I was one," she responded, "that would mean I could do it all under my own power. If it were up to me to get us out of that dungeon, I don't think we'd have made it."

"I suspect you had your share of injuries as well?"

She caught onto this being a subtle insult, as the old Seymour's smugness was creeping through.

"Not a one," she answered, "and that in itself was a miracle."

She managed to get the fire going into a decent blaze. Unable to stay like he was, Seymour finally gave up and staggered back to his bed. Seeing that he was much less likely to fight him, the woman changed all the stained dressings, checked the clean ones, and placed her hands on him to heal him. Seeing as she was ultimately harmless (at least for the time being), he allowed her to do it. Though his cheeks still burned with fever, his eyes had been clearer today which was more than she could have hoped for. While he was asleep, she got to work on dinner. She wasn't much of a cook, but she knew just enough to get by on. She made a simple stew and sliced up some bread. Though Seymour probably didn't feel like eating and would just refuse, she filled a bowl for him and left it at his bedside in case he woke up. The sun was entering what photographers often referred to as "Golden Hour" where the light turned gold and soft. The hard shadows of midafternoon were turning soft and blue-violet and the world seemed a gentler place. At a loss as to what to do now, she walked among the ruins and was very careful not to get too close to the water. Some of the piranhas had been giving her trouble lately. While they were very good eating, they were still a bit too much trouble. She didn't feel like fighting with them unless she absolutely had to. Here and there, she found some flowers that had begun to reclaim the abandoned temple and picked them. She'd seen plenty of sick or hurt people in her day and flowers always seemed to have a positive effect on their healing. Even if it didn't do anything, it gave them something nice to look at and it didn't hurt anything. Once she'd gathered an armful, she strategically placed them around the large circular room where they were staying. Then, she picked up a slightly beat-up drawing book and a makeshift pencil that she'd made by charring the end of a stick in the fire and went outside.

When Seymour woke the second time, his skin felt less clammy and his balance wasn't quite so shaky. Though the ever-present soreness was still there, he didn't feel as weak. The still-warm stew even tempted him a little bit. He felt full after only a few bites, but he kept going because he was tired of feeling so weak. After his shrunken stomach couldn't hold anymore, he put it aside and looked around. The assault of memories did a number on him. For a brief few seconds, he wondered if he was hallucinating. Though the temple was still ruined, the flowers that his mother used to always pick and gather in bunches were back. They were even in the same arrangements that she favored: the red-orange ones were always in the brightest places where the most sunlight came in. They were contrasted with blue and purple. In the shadows, the cooler pink, white, and warm yellow had been placed to brighten darker places up. The air was heavy with their perfume and he believed for one heart-wrenching second that she was here and just out of his sight. When he caught his caregiver's scent wafting in from the doorway, though, he knew it was only a child's foolish hope. His mother wasn't coming back. They would be separated by the great chasm of life and death once more. He mentally scolded himself for hoping for such things—what kind of a man couldn't handle life on his own? He hadn't been a child in decades. The woman must have put the flowers here. He crossed his arms over his chest. Thinking some more things over, he decided that she might be mentally impaired or just foolish due to her flawed beliefs, but she was ultimately harmless for now. She _had_ put her life on the line to keep him from being eternally destroyed by fiends. He decided to go and talk to her, but he wasn't going to go outside like this. Looking around for something that he might be able to wear other than the ratty old blanket, he wondered if his robes had been salvageable. They had been torn pretty badly and silk was hard to repair due to its delicate nature. He was surprised when he actually found them laying draped over a nearby pillar. Most of the damage had been repaired though she didn't have the same delicate hand with it as the tailors and seamstresses at home. With great difficulty, he managed to get them on. It seemed to take forever because he kept having to stop due to the pain. Being in the middle of nowhere with no magical abilities or weapons was still intimidating, but at least he had _some_ protection. It was easier not to think about his injuries now that most of them were covered. A few of them couldn't be helped like his bandaged hands. One of his feet was also causing problems—he suspected a sprained tendon in the bottom and it wouldn't bear his weight for long before it started to twinge every time he stepped on it. It took a while to figure out how to move so that it didn't take so much impact. He limped out the door and felt the sea breeze ruffle his messy blue hair. He saw his nurse sitting on one of the stone docks with her drawing book, her skirt ruffled by the breeze. It was hard to see her face at first because her inky, messy curls kept blowing across it. She seemed oblivious to that, though, and they evidently didn't obscure her vision. The Pyreflies were coming out more now that it was getting dark and they seemed to have an affinity for her. She watched them with a soft childlike smile before returning to her sketch. He came closer and peered over her shoulder. A nearly exact replica of the scene before them filled the page. The way she'd drawn it, though, gave it a different tone. It was more mysterious, more exciting. Sometimes she included a ghostly snapshot of what memories the Pyreflies held. She didn't even seem to notice him until the sun sank further and caused his shadow to eclipse the page. He was already a lot taller than she was to begin with, but she had to tilt her head almost all the way back to see his face from where she was sitting.

"Better?" she asked.

"Yes."

They were silent for a moment. She knee-walked around him, brushing back part of his robe so that she could see the sunset.

"After all the trouble you've gone through, I should at least know your name," he finally said as the last bit of redness began to sink below the horizon. The light turned his lavender eyes into a brilliant red-violet and hers to almost orange.

"It's Melody," she said, grasping his offered hand in hers. The difference was laughable: her fingers and thumb didn't even reach all the way around. She was glad she'd wiped all the charcoal off of her hands.

"Why, Melody, would you choose such a desolate place? It's so far from everything."

"I didn't pick it," she admitted, "though it's beautiful here in a very sad way…it was the first place I landed. After that bright flash of light, I was flying so fast I couldn't see where I was going. My own body was forming, though, and I couldn't stay in the air. We both fell in the water, so I got us to the first place I saw—this old temple."

"How convenient."

"It was—I got a little scared that you were going to drown," she admitted, "and then there were those nasty green fish with big teeth. It was like everything in the water was determined to eat us. There were a couple of times I almost lost my sword. Once I got you out of the water, it was much better, though. I didn't have to do everything one-handed anymore."

In the dying light, he could see some half-healed cuts on her hands and arms. There were a few bite-marks on her legs as well, though they seemed to be older injuries. He had even more trouble believing that she could handle a sword than anything else—her flesh was too soft and baggy to have had any training. He almost asked her how in the world she'd managed it, but decided against that. Instead, he slowly breathed in so as not to jar his ribs, then said, "You have my highest gratitude for what you've done. Thank you."

She smiled.

"You're welcome," she said warmly, "just try not to make a habit of getting hurt!"

The ghost of a smile played on his lips despite still being very guarded.

"How long was I unconscious?" he asked.

"Days," Melody responded, "maybe even weeks. Then there was how long it took to get you out of the Via Infinito. That took even longer—I'd have to see a calendar to be sure."

The doubtful frown was there again. True, he had felt as if he'd been wandering around in that dungeon-like maze for hours, but he didn't think it had been _that_ long. Being out here, on the other hand…well…losing track of time was fairly easy, as there were never any clear-cut seasons and hardly any ships that passed by.

"If you haven't anything better to do, we should find out," Seymour suggested, more for his own sake than hers. With no power and in such bad physical shape, he would need someone to help him out on the roads.

"We will," she promised, "but not for a while. You've still got a lot of healing up to do. Even breathing sounds like it's tiring you out."

She yawned so widely that her jaw popped.

"Ugh…speaking of tired…I forgot how fast flesh wears out. I don't see how all of you do it all the time. Then there's having to stop constantly to eat and sleep and empty…it amazes me how you all get so much done despite that."

She hauled herself upright, picked up her book, then followed him inside. It was a warm night, so there was no need to mess with the fire. She lay down on her makeshift bed and was asleep within minutes. Since he'd been asleep so much during the day, wakefulness lingered a bit longer for Seymour. He lay awake for a long time, gazing absently at the stars through the holes in the ceiling. Moonlight poured in, throwing silver pools of light over everything that wasn't in the immediate vicinity of the fire. Every chain of thought he chased for the moment boiled down to one thing:

_What will I do now?_

A lot could happen in a matter of weeks or months. He wondered how the rest of the Guado were doing—probably not well if word of his actions had gotten out. The Macalania Temple might be in trouble as well. Now that everyone believed him gone for good, his responsibilities had no doubt already been handed off to someone else. He knew that most people would still remember him and a great deal of them might be hostile if they saw him. If this "father" that Melody had so lovingly described was still around, why hadn't he made Seymour look different? His spiky blue hair and purple eyes and massive frame made him too easy to recognize. Sighing, he gently probed a few of the gauze-covered wounds. He'd get worse than this if they got ahold of him. Maybe this Melody would know of a safe place for him until he'd faded out of people's memories.

He wondered, then, what had become of Yuna and the others. A lot could happen if he'd been gone as long as Melody said he had been. They might have all made it or they might all be dead. He wondered what had become of Sin and whether or not there would be a new one soon.

He looked over at Melody and didn't bother to mask his surprise, as no one was watching. Pyreflies had been weaving in and out of the temple for quite some time now, but he was so used to them that he paid them no mind. Now, he noticed that there were at least ten or fifteen of them floating around Melody who seemed blissfully unaware of the sparkling lights. How strange, he thought. He wondered if they whispered to her the way they did to Summoners.

Something locked into place then.

_Perhaps that's what happened,_ he thought suddenly, _maybe she is a Summoner and the one she calls Father is an Aeon—if my mother could do it and become Anima, then maybe she has one of her own. _Feeling better now, he closed his eyes and rested. Any explanation no matter how slender was better than a completely impossible one in his opinion.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a rough night for both of them to say the least. At first, Seymour's sleep was light, but untroubled. Then the dreams began. Some of them were just strange but not scary, but they evolved into more and more nightmares. Various people began to descend on him, speaking to him in accusatory tones. There was Jecht, who attacked him in some monstrous form that he imagined to be the final Aeon. There was his father, Lord Jyscal, who always seemed to hate him. There was the very last Summoner party—Tidus, Yuna, Auron, Lulu, and Rikku, and Wakka—as he relived the horror of his own "first death". There was even his own mother at one point, who didn't attack him, but simply shook her head and cried silent tears for the disappointment he'd become to her. Out of all the things he'd been through, Seymour had the hardest time with that one because it was the biggest source of guilt. It didn't help that the dreams felt more real because he kept either rolling onto his wounds or bumping them on accident.

On Melody's end, it was the inability to make the nightmares stop. Since this skin was so new, she hadn't yet learned the ways of Spira or how to harness the invisible power that seemed to permeate the air. Previously, all her assignments had been on Earth and she was clueless as to how to deal with everything. How did one fight dreams? How did one fight memories and feelings made physical? How did one learn to manipulate their surroundings in such a direct way and achieve the impossible? Healing people came naturally to her, but she was hopeless so far at doing other things. It was an extension of will and concentration, but she hadn't had time so far to figure out how to create a spurt of flames from her palms or conjure an ice storm out of nowhere. She'd desperately wanted to—being able to cool Seymour off when his fever spiked would have been nice, but she'd had to make do with ordinary water gathered from the sea. She'd had to start a fire the very clumsy, old-fashioned way by trying to make a spark and that had taken a _whole day._ Getting fresh water was also a big problem—she'd been letting him have nearly all of it, but now she was feeling the effects of dehydration. Compounded by the lack of sleep, her head was throbbing.

"I need help," she whispered, "Please, Lord, help me to make this work…help me to learn to function on this world…"

A wind flowed through the temple through the cracks in the ruins. Some of the flower petals blew off and swirled in it. Despite her distress, Melody couldn't help but smile: the "petal storms" as she sometimes called them were beautiful. Beautiful and tragic at the same time. They drifted toward something hidden behind a pillar and disappeared. She chased them out of sheer childish glee, welcoming the distraction and having to stifle her giggles in order to keep from waking Seymour up. Then, she was puzzled. The petals were disappearing—but where were they going?

Dropping to her knees, she crawled into the shadow and hoped that there wasn't a fiend or a wild animal waiting for her there. Deciding not to take any unnecessary chances, she retrieved her sword and wandered blindly into the dark. She barely had time to let out a yelp when she went forward too quickly and the ground disappeared at a sharp slope. She lost her grip on the sword and it clanged noisily behind her before skidding away with a scraping sound. There was a terrible moment where she couldn't see anything, couldn't feel anything, and couldn't figure out where she was. Then, there was an enormous splash and she was submerged in _very_ cold water.

Coming up coughing and sputtering, Melody took a moment to catch her breath. Shivering violently, she felt around for her sword. She was forced to go under again before her hand was safely on its hilt. Putting it back in its scabbard on her belt, she felt marginally safer. Hauling herself up to the first dry place she came to, she wished she had a light. She tasted no salt in the water, so she belly-flopped onto the ground and drank until her stomach was full to bursting. Then, she blindly began to feel around. Taking her sword from its hilt once more, she began to tap it against the walls. Listening carefully, she was able to form a mental map based on how much the sound echoed. Though it wasn't entirely accurate, it was a shade better than panicking. She didn't like the dark at all because you never knew what was lurking there.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

_The room is narrowing,_ she thought.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. _PING!_

_I've hit something metal._

Her small fingers fumbled around, touching the huge metal door.

_This is a little like the ones outside,_ she thought. She had to push with her back against it to get it open. After several minutes of straining, the rusty hinges gave way and she finally got it to move. Once inside, the musty, disused, damp, and somewhat moldy smell assaulted her nose. Clearly no one had been in here for quite some time and it didn't get a lot of air. She wondered how long it had been…

Suddenly, light exploded out of the darkness, blinding her. She threw up an arm to shield her eyes for a moment before seeing a glowing glyph on the wall.

"What in the quill is that?"

She looked around. It was a hallway of some sort. She wondered what was making this thing glow. The minute her fingers made contact with it, the glyph flashed and the dead-end suddenly peeled away. Melody stared in puzzlement at it.

"Huh?"

There were a bunch of statues, all with glowing colored spheres at their bases. Melody examined each one and wondered what these glowing balls were for. Each one she touched reacted to her hands by glowing more brightly. There was also a brightly colored glowing glyph on the wall. Someone had opened it at some point, for she had no trouble getting in there. A stone statue of a woman was inside this room. Melody retrieved one of the glowing spheres to use as a light source and looked around. It was a strange thing, this sphere—it felt _wet_, but it left no water on her hands. She felt a strange sort of resonance from it. The room was mostly dusty with fallen chunks of rock, but she pawed at them anyway. So far, she'd had a great deal of luck finding things that had been forgotten in the corners. In some cases, the water had washed things ashore. Other things had been there for years and were simply left behind and forgotten. It had meant the difference between life and death a few times, so she took none of the rooms for granted. So far, the search came up empty until she reached the last corner of the room. There was something there that glinted. The Pyreflies that lingered in the room began to swirl around it and the thing sparkled more brightly in response. Melody picked it up and brushed off the dust. It was another one of those spheres, but this one was _different._ There was a strange sort of sadness coming from it and it increased the moment her hands touched it. Suddenly, something happened and she was standing in a different version of this room. It was brightly lit, clean, and full of flowers. A dark-haired woman who was sickly pale but beautiful just the same gazed at her with sorrowful eyes. Melody reached out to her, but her hand passed right through the woman. The woman seemed to be looking past her at something in the doorway. Melody didn't see what it was, for she accidentally dropped the sphere. The room returned to its decrepit state.

"Huh?!" she wondered out loud, heart thundering.

_You have found my sphere, then,_ a voice said, _I was wondering when someone would have the time or the inclination to look for it._

Melody nearly jumped out of her skin. The Pyreflies that floated around her had come together and formed a transparent figure, though it was beginning to become a tiny bit more opaque with each Pyrefly that joined her.

"I know you, don't I? From somewhere?"

There was an odd sense of familiarity about the woman though Melody didn't immediately recognize her. It was the same feeling one gets when a person you haven't seen for years runs up to you and greets you while you're struggling to recall their name.

"My son sleeps upstairs," she said, her voice taking on a faint, ethereal quality as it echoed through the damp stone room, "maybe you've seen me in his memory. He dreams of me often, of happier times when we were still together. Now that I no longer appear as the Aeon Anima, he can no longer see me as he once did."

Melody bit her lip and nodded. That must be hard. It was difficult for her to not be able to physically see her own Father though she knew He wouldn't leave her completely on her own. Being fleshed always brought an enormous sense of loss in that respect.

"But I have not abandoned him," she continued, "there is little I can do from the Farplane—I don't have long to stay, so I will only ask one thing: have my prayers been heard?"

Melody smiled.

"I believe they have, Lady Aderes."

The name had come to her suddenly as if it had always been there. She was relieved, as she hated not knowing people's names.

"What are you going to do now that you've snatched him from the depths of Via Infinito?" she asked.

"I have no idea," Melody confessed, "but we'll get there somehow. I promise you that he'll join you the next time around, though I don't know when that is. In the meantime, we'll see what happens."

"_You're_ his guardian now…" she had begun to fade already, "…so please…try to see him as I do. He'll be difficult. He'll be terribly stubborn and sometimes very temperamental. He has a tendency to hurt everyone that gets close to him, but I beg you not to give up on him…"

"I won't," she promised, watching Lady Aderes disappear.

Picking up the sphere, she turned it over and over in her hands. The wonders of this strange place called Spira would never cease to amaze her. She could literally hold a person's memories in her small hands. She wondered how she was going to get back upstairs—everywhere seemed to be full of water. At least it would light her way, she mused. She twisted a section of her skirt and knotted it over the sphere, as she couldn't think of a practical way to swim well and carry it at the same time. Her other hand would be needed for the sword, so she plunged into the depths of the water once more. Though having found a clean source of it made her feel better, she still felt heavy and tired. Swimming was easier than walking or climbing to her, but her clothes were heavy and she was quite cold by the time she climbed out of the pool. Getting back up there was much harder than going down. Using the hilt of her sword, she dug into the cracks of the steeply slanted walls and slipped and scrabbled her way back up. Her shoes made a wet squelching sound every time she stepped and her clothes clung uncomfortably. She checked on the sphere a few times, making sure that it was still tied into her skirt, then _finally_ emerged, panting with exertion, into daylight. Flopping tiredly into the floor, she lay still for a moment. After her heart had stopped pounding in her ears, she raised up and looked around. Her skirt was tangled, so she tugged it loose and let the sphere roll towards her bed. It was eerily quiet.

"Seymour? Seymour, are you still in here?"

She heard a thud and a gasp of pain. Instinctively seizing her sword upon hearing the sinister hiss and feeling a dark presence, she ran outside after the sound. A few feet away from the door, a bird-like fiend was dive-bombing her charge. He managed to dodge it, but the thing had already hurt him. There was blood on the concrete.

"Seymour!"

She ran towards him and managed to get between him and the bird. Seeing that it was going to potentially be deprived of a meal, it descended on her with outstretched talons. Melody swung her sword with all her might, but barely managed to even nick it.

"How bad is it?" Melody asked him, still tracking the bird's movements.

"Bad enough," he grunted, doubled over, "for someone who's supposed to be protecting me, you're not doing a very good job!"

THWACK!

Melody landed a much bigger blow on the bird this time. It staggered backward, but it continued to swipe at her. It was nearly as big as she was and she let out a terrified yelp as its wickedly curved beak snapped too close to her arm.

"I'm sorry, I just—OW!"

Its talons raked her arm and opened a very nasty gash. She staggered backward but managed to keep a grip on her sword.

"Can you get inside?" she asked through gritted teeth. She didn't have time to ask him any more, for he grabbed the sword out of her hand and plunged it into the beast's heart. It let out a cry of pain and stopped moving. Melody watched in stunned silence as its Pyreflies floated away. Seymour tugged her sword free and thrust it roughly back into her hands. His eyes squeezed shut as he leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath. He felt sick to his stomach and he hurt in places he'd forgotten he had. One shoulder of his robes had slid down revealing the blood-soaked gauze. Melody gulped, her face paling.

"You might be a skilled mage, but you're…ugh…"

He clutched his strained shoulder.

"I'm what?" she asked shakily.

"You're worthless as a guardian!"

"But—"

"But _nothing!_ The first rule your _father_ should have taught you is that you DON'T run off!"

He crumpled into a blood and silk heap. Melody bowed her head, tears welling in her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be gone so long!"

She dipped the sword in the salt water to clean it off, then put it back in the sheath. He only let her help him up because he hurt too much to protest and it would hurt even more to struggle. His stare was completely iced over, however, and it pained her to see that look. She blinked the tears back as she cleaned out the new and old wounds alike and winced every time he hissed in pain. Once they were clean and bandaged up, she sent her power into his body, helping the blood flow to cease and the skin to knit together. She felt him relax a bit as the pained lessened to a more tolerable level. She did the same to her own wounds before sealing them up. Feeling terribly exhausted now and very dizzy, she was forced it sit down. Her hands were trembling as she bound her arm with gauze.

"What happened?" she asked shakily.

"I went looking for you," he said crossly, "when I called for you, I got no answer. As these crumbling ruins themselves are just as dangerous as the fiends, I thought maybe you were hurt or trapped somewhere. Imagine my surprise when one of those fiends happened to scent my blood and came after me the moment I stepped outside…"

"I'm so sorry…" she lamented, "I truly didn't mean to be gone so long."

He crossed his arms and gave her a look that could freeze Hell itself.

"Just what were you doing that was so important?" he asked icily.

"I was…looking for water, actually. We were completely out. There was this hole I fell down and I must have fallen a long way because it took me forever to climb back up. Then I had no light, so I had to find my way around by tapping with my sword. There was water, all right—tons of it. I'll have to take the bottles back down there again and fill them. But then there was this great big room with all these glowing things and statues and then—"

She paused to draw in a breath, "—then I found this. It's like a memory thing…I don't know how exactly, but I saw your mom in there."

She retrieved the sphere that she'd dropped earlier and placed it in Seymour's hands.

"I thought you'd like to have it," she said meekly, "I know it wasn't worth all the stuff you just went through, but I can tell you miss her."

He held the sphere in his hands, the coolness soothing his sweating, stinging palms. Much as he longed to watch it, he decided to wait until he had some privacy. He never shared his memories of his mother with anyone, not even Yuna, though he might have eventually trusted her enough to later on. The failed marriage was yet another one of those things that rubbed salt in his mental wounds. He had genuinely cared about Yuna—he didn't know her well enough to say he loved her, but he'd seen the potential before she'd found out what he had done.

_And you…how much longer will you want to help me when you find out?_

Melody swayed when she tried to get up. She looked dangerously close to losing consciousness. Her face was unnaturally pale—even her lips were gray. He frowned—he had seen the type of creature they'd fought before and it wasn't supposed to be poisonous. She hadn't even lost that much blood.

"What's the problem?" he asked.

Melody sat back down, clutching her head in her hands. Black swirly stuff had begun to edge in on her vision.

"Oh, nothing…just a little dizzy. It happens sometimes when I have to do a lot of healing. Here lately, I've been doing a bunch of it. It doesn't help that I sometimes pick up a memory or two without meaning to—it happens with the energy exchange."

Looking understandably uncomfortable, he raised an eyebrow.

"You can see memories without using a sphere?" he demanded to know.

"Yes…out of all my flesh incarnations that Father has given me, that one was always a constant," she told him, "in order to heal you all the way, I have to push the light energy into you, but I have to pull the darkness into me so that the light has room to grow. During those times, sometimes I see things that have happened to people and I see it from their point of view. In your case, I saw the same bird-monster coming for you when you were a kid. You fought it off, but it nearly got you."

He remembered that day. It was when he'd seen how frail his mother was getting. Staring down at his clawed hands in his lap, he wondered what else she had seen.

"Your secrets are safe with me," she said, as if reading his mind, "I swear it won't go any further than us. Not that anyone would believe me anyway."

Laying down on her side, she let her eyes close for a moment. With her bandaged arm, damaged skirt, and wild hair, she looked very much like a corpse who had lost a fight.

"What else have you seen?"

He sounded calmer than he felt. The idea of anyone being able to look into his memories bothered him terribly. In his mind, that was far worse than getting raped.

"A man who looked like you," she said, "being torn apart by lightning, fire, and ice…there was so much fury and pain mixed together. And it was through your eyes."

_Of course…THAT memory…of all the things she could have seen…_

Her hazel gaze wasn't accusatory, but there was knowing there. In fact, it was full of the one thing he couldn't stand: pity. His own lavender gaze darkened into a stormy blue-violet as his expression settled into its arrogant mask.

"I have fewer secrets from you than I thought, then," he said coolly, "was it worth braving the most Hellish place in Spira for a murderer?"

Melody fidgeted with one of the withered palm fronds that made up the bed, but her gaze never faltered from his.

"Of course it is…the only one who can't see that is you."

"You don't fear me, then?"

"No."

"Then you are a fool."

"We'll see."

Her eyes slid closed. Her voice had steadily been becoming deeper and more husky because of the exhaustion. Seymour was exhausted himself, but he forced himself to stay awake. Now was as good of a time as any to watch the sphere. When he was sure she was fully asleep, he activated it. The room around him transformed, turning into a younger, less damaged place. It was full of flowers and fresh air, though it was still cavernous and lonely. Sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him was Lady Aderes herself. She was holding the sphere to her temple at first. Once it was activated, she held it up and began to talk to it.

"If anyone other than my son finds this sphere," she said in an ethereal, ghost-like voice, "I am Lady Aderes Guado—my husband is Lord Jyscal Guado and my son, Seymour, is the one I bequeath this sphere to. Seymour, if you're listening, I want to say first and foremost that I love you. No matter what happens, I always will. You've undergone so many hardships already and you're going to make an excellent young man and an even better Summoner. It isn't easy to know that I'll be out of your reach in just a short time. I want you to understand why I've done these things that I've done and to give you a part of me that's still human before I change. I've decided to become an Aeon and I'm going to do it just before my strength fails. Then, I will always be with you and be able to protect you in a way that I couldn't as a woman. I…"

She wiped away a transparent, gleaming tear.

"…I'm sorry that I've put you through all this. You're so young and though you're very mature for your age and very responsible, you're still a child, too. You've been through so much already…but it can't be helped. I've hidden something away for you that only you can access, something that might help you on your journey. You can find it where you saw me transform. In the meantime, I'll be praying that someone else comes along that can ease your loneliness. Take care, my precious gem….I'll see you in the Farplane, but hopefully not anytime soon."

The image faded and Seymour was left staring at the empty air where his mother had been sitting. He supposed she'd held the sphere level with where his eyes would have been, but now it seemed as if she'd been staring at his heart the entire time. With no reason to mask it, he let his anger surface. If his father hadn't been so terrible to both of them, they never would have left and maybe the Guado could have found a cure for his mother's mysterious wasting disease. He'd have never had to watch her body distort and warp until it became huge and monstrous and covered with chains. Despite being terrified at first, he had come to see that she was still beautiful, just in a different way. He had thought about bringing her back so they could kill Jyscal together, but that had seemed too cruel in the end. He had taken care of it himself. He remembered the old man's defiant sneer even as his heart had stopped—he had won in the end even temporarily. Seymour put the sphere beside him and lay down very, very carefully. Sleep was defiant, but it eventually came.

Melody still wasn't quite herself when they woke up, but she had regained a little color and now only looked a little sickly rather than almost dead. Needing some air, they both went outside, him leaning against her for support. Night had fallen and the air was fresh and cool. The ever-present Pyreflies were still shimmering over the ocean, all swarming around them. Sometimes Melody could hold out her hand and one would land in her palm. They usually had a mind of their own and didn't let people try and touch them.

"What is it about you that attracts them so?" he wondered out loud.

"Heck if I know," Melody said, grinning at a rather vividly colored one, "what are these things, anyway?"

"They're memories of the dead."

She frowned.

"There's an awful lot of them around here."

"You should see Zanarkand," Seymour said, "it is known as the City of the Dead because there are so many Unsent there…even then some of their Pyreflies may remain."

"What happened to it?" Melody asked.

"Sin destroyed it," Seymour explained, "and a great deal of people died there. Hardly anyone goes there anymore—it isn't safe for most. Even experienced mages, fighters, and Summoners have difficulty getting through unscathed."

Melody now had about four Pyreflies competing for space in her hand.

"Are you sure you're not a Summoner? Only they can manipulate the Pyreflies as you do."

"I don't even know what a Summoner is or does, remember?"

He stared at her in disbelief.

"They are the ones who send the souls of the dead to the Farplane," he explained, "if they are not Sent, they become resentful of the living and take on monstrous, destructive forms called fiends. You've run into some of them already."

"Oh, my…." She trailed off, then sputtered: "Those were once _people?!_"

"Once. They need no pity, for by not accepting the inevitable, they transform themselves. It was once my job to Send them whether they wanted it or not."

"How sad…" Melody lamented, "that must have been a hard job."

"Not really. They had no more pain or suffering. The ones to pity were the living—they still had to go on."

There was an edge of resentment in his voice during those last few words.

"And do you consider yourself unfortunate that your heart beats again?" Melody asked. Seymour looked up at the sliver of moon in sky, debating on how to answer that one. He'd walked right into a trap there.

"That depends, doesn't it? I'm not exactly a grand success in the eyes of most people. I died at twenty-eight years old. I lost everything in the process—my mother, my father, the faith of the people I worked for. I never completed my pilgrimage and everyone will remember me as the murderous Maester who allowed the crusaders and the Al Bhed to go on a suicide mission. And then there's Yuna and the others…Yevon knows what _they_ think of me. They fought me inside Sin. On top of all that, every injury I obtained along the way never healed and the more Pyreflies I absorbed to transform only corrupted my body and mind further."

She watched the waves, listening intently.

"I refuse to stay here longer than I have to," he said quietly, "but I must warn you of the hostility we're bound to face. By now, all of Spira must either know of my actions or they're finding out as we speak. You might want to consider going separate ways once we've crossed the water."

He pulled away from her then and turned his back to her, looking up at the stars.

"I'll do no such thing," she announced emphatically, "I was sent to help you and I'm going to until Father calls me home again."

"You're either very brave or very foolish," he said coolly, "only time will tell which."

A violent splash of water made him jerk back from where he was standing. The sharp gleam of teeth in the moonlight made them appear all the more sinister. This time, Melody was ready. She shoved Seymour aside and plunged the sword into the water. At first, it was still.

"You missed," he said mockingly, "again. How disappointing."

A fountain of Pyreflies surged upward and the body of the fish emerged on the waves. That particular piranha wouldn't bother anyone again. Melody waited for a moment before deciding there were no more and sheathed her sword.

"You were saying?" she asked.

Chastened, he didn't reply.

"It didn't get you, did it?" Melody asked.

"No."

His robes were a little wet from the splash, but nothing else had happened. He shivered a little, as the temperature was dropping.

"What powers does that sword have?"

Melody glanced at her shining weapon.

"It's my guardian sword," she said, "the only thing I know about it is that I can retrieve it from long distances if I need to. It also shape-shifts into other things—it turned into a bow once. But it always has this same coloring: white with blue gems. Father says it goes wherever it's needed the most."

"May I?"

She handed it to him. Seymour examined the softly glowing blade. He had previously thought that the only unusual thing about it was its color, but there seemed to be a warmth radiating from it. The presence there seemed almost alive; a separate entity by itself. It reminded him of the Aeons and how they were very gentle, yet very fierce at the same time. This blade seemed to have the same potential in the sense that it could really hurt someone if it wanted. It was silly to believe that an inanimate object could be living, but not as much of a stretch as it should have been. In addition to the whiteness of the blade, there was also the intricate design of the engraved wings joining the hilt to the blade. The detailing of the feathers was so fine that they could almost pass for real. In the hilt, the three blue gems inlaid were shining softly. Even in the dim light, the unnatural brightness of the blue was evident. He reached out with his mind, trying to figure out the secrets of the blade, but it refused to tell him. Whatever magic was forged in with the metal resisted him.

"Even I don't know how it's made," Melody said, figuring out what he was doing, "Father gave it to me on my way down here."

The man must have been an impressive blacksmith, then. Seymour handed it back to her. She waved it around in the moonlight as if sparring with an invisible partner. The clutz nearly dropped the sword in the water a couple of times and barely managed to catch it before the waves did. He shook his head, half in amusement and half in annoyance. She reminded him of a little kid playing soldier. Eventually, she grew tired of the game and put it away.

"How is it that this place is so peaceful, yet so dangerous? Every time I think we're okay, something jumps out at us," Melody sighed.

"Wait until we're actually in the water," Seymour said darkly, "_then_ you can talk about lack of peace."

"That bad, huh?" she asked.

"I'm sure you've noticed that what little of my skin that wasn't ripped open had plenty of older scars," he replied, "many of them caused by piranhas."

"Oh dear…" she frowned.

"I gave as good as I got," he said dismissively, "it was learn young or not at all."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not."

When they went back inside, he noticed her cleaning out the wound on her arm.

"You really should use a shield spell. It could save you some trouble later."

"I don't know how," she said sheepishly. Again, it was the dumbfounded expression that rubbed her ego the wrong way. His expression was quite incredulous that she didn't know any.

"That lack of memory is getting to be a serious problem," he pointed out.

"In order to remember or forget something, I'd have had to learn it in the first place, right? The problem is that I didn't know to begin with."

Seymour did face-palm then, but took care to do it gently.

"_Children_ learn that from the day they're old enough to understand," he sighed, "who trained you?"

"No one."

He let out an exasperated sigh. He was worse off than he thought—he had a guardian who couldn't shield! Could this situation get any worse?!

"We shall have to remedy that," he said, "as soon as possible. If we want any hope of surviving outside these ruins, you have to be able to keep your enemies at a distance. By the time they get within arm's reach, it's usually too late."

Melody nodded, looking as troubled as he felt.

"It's going to be more difficult to teach you, as my own power is still absent," he said, "so we must rely on yours for the time being. Perhaps mine will return soon and we won't be so helpless."


	3. Chapter 3

Clouds were gathering over the ocean. An angry wind was whipping through the cracks in the fort and they had to stay close to the fire. Melody had patched her skirt back together as best as she could while still keeping it on. Only when Seymour stirred did she bother to make breakfast. While they were eating, he told her what they were going to be doing and how shield spells worked. While Melody washed the dishes, he had taken her drawing book and was busily scratching away in it.

"What are you drawing in there?" she wanted to know.

"I have mapped out the gestures for you," he said, not looking up, "so that if you manage the first shield spell by some miracle, you can practice the others."

"I know you don't think very much of me—I can tell every time you open your mouth," she responded, "but I'm sure you had some trouble when you first got going, too. Just don't give up on me, all right? I'm going to do the best I can."

"I'm going to tell you the same thing I've told the others that I've taught," Seymour said coolly, "your 'best' is _only_ good enough if you succeed. A failure in this case can cost you your life and then what good does that do you?"

"You must have been a harsh teacher, then," she said.

"None of the students I taught have ever died."

She couldn't argue with that.

"Now," Seymour said, showing her the book, "the gesture is the easy part. Any child can learn to imitate it. The real challenge is the concentration required. You can't lose focus in the middle of battle or it will cost you your life. Each time you think there's even a _slight_ possibility of being hit, then you have to imagine a wall between you and your opponent. If you do it right, the wall will become physical, though invisible."

He let her look at the diagrams. He could draw almost as well as she could, much to her surprise.

"Now, do as I do."

He showed her the gesture and had her do it with him. After a few tries, he decided to test abilities out. He held one clawed hand about a yard or so from her face.

"Make the shield again. This time, I want you to force my hand back."

He started to move it toward her. She was trying—her face was even turning red and her ears would probably glow in the dark. But all she managed to do was slow his hand down. He felt the magic thrumming in the air, felt its willfulness. So far, though, it was still too weak.

"You'll have to do better than that," he warned. He pretended as if he was going to drop his hand and thus caused her guard to drop. Then, he swung it towards her as if he was going to strike. He never intended to do so, however, and she cringed under the swipe that never came. His hand smacked into something hard. The minute he touched it, though, the shield crumbled.

"There," he said, "you should be able to do that every time—and at a much greater distance."

She sighed.

"There's no pleasing you, is there?"

Thunder sounded outside, causing her to flinch visibly. He could smell the adrenaline coming from her pores.

"Don't tell me a little thing like a mere thunderstorm frightens you," he said, obviously disgusted.

"Let's just say I'm not fond of lightning," she replied.

He chuckled darkly.

"Let us hope we do not have to pass the Thunder Plains then. You'll be in for a very rough few days."

She gave him a Look.

"You're not gonna make me do that, are you?"

"We're not taking the long way around just because you're afraid if that's what you're asking."

Another sigh. It was good to know that this messy mop-headed girl had a weakness after all. She was beginning to get on his nerves.

"Learn that shield spell," he pressed, "and I will show you how to never be afraid of lightning again."

"Really?"

"Really."

She watched warily through the accidental skylight as the storm moved in. The rain started coming down in sheets and the leaden sea began to roar louder as it beat against the outside of the temple. Melody shrank back into the shadows and tried to concentrate on what she was doing.

_There's a wall between me and the storm,_ she thought, _it can't get me._

She fixated on a spot a couple of feet away and imagined a brick wall being built there. Trying to block out the wind, rain, and thunder, she willed that wall to be pulled into existence with her very faith. Father would surely protect her when the time came…

Seymour sat watching her. There was the vibration in the air that always accompanied magic. The adrenaline was ebbing away—the sharp, salty smell of it was dissipating. Melody was staring hard into the empty air when there was a sudden flash. The familiar hexagonal shapes, light blue-purple with orange edges, materialized in front of her. She seemed to snap out of her daze momentarily, staring at the honeycomb-like shape with rapt fascination. One had stretched towards it—it was the most peculiar thing she'd ever felt. The shield didn't _feel_ solid in the least, but an indescribable force repelled her touch from it. It only lingered for a second before her concentration lapsed again and it disappeared.

"Oh! Where did it go?!"

"Those shields only last for one instance of contact," Seymour told her, "you will have to repeat it every time it touches something."

"Ugh…every time? Isn't there one that lasts longer?"

"Not that _you_ have the ability to maintain. Your power is still very weak."

Melody sighed. She tried again to make another one, but the shield only partially materialized before it faded again. The third time she tried, nothing happened.

"Now I can't do it at all? What the feathers?!"

"Your magic is used up," Seymour told her, "you'll have to wait for it to build up again."

"Great…."

Now with nothing to distract her from the storm, she paced restlessly, avoiding the streams of water that were spilling into the room. Only a small fraction of floor space was spared from the flooding since the temple was partially tilted. She was glad she'd thought to put their beds and the fire on an incline. Feeling weary, she retrieved her drawing book and began to scribble aimlessly. She had to do _something_ or she would lose her mind. During her "scribble session" as she'd come to call them, she stopped really noticing what was happening. Seymour's gaze had grown distant just as hers had as he watched the water falling. With an enormous effort, he willed some of those drops to come to him. There was a great deal of resistance—he hadn't felt this much frustration since he was a child. It had always been as if the elements had fought back, as if they'd had a will of their own. With an enormous mental tug, he freed a few drops from the mini-waterfall that had formed and pulled them through the air towards his open palm. He counted maybe five or six droplets before they disappeared, but it was enough to know that he could do it again. The drops shone like diamonds when the next bolt of lightning lit the otherwise dim temple and he felt as if they were just as valuable. His shoulder started throbbing from all the gestures, but he ignored the pain. He remembered that water had been his first element to manipulate. With nothing but ocean for miles around, it was the easiest one to work with. Lady Aderes had always said that water would be his element if he ever became a fiend—he was cool and calm on the surface, but you never knew what was going on underneath in its depths. At the time, he'd thought she'd said that because he had blue hair.

Melody finally glanced up and saw what he was doing. The drops he'd pulled from the center of the room were collecting into swirling ball in the palm of his hand. Something was amusing him about that water—she thought she saw a legitimate smile under that cold smirk.

"You can do magic again? That's great! I knew you were missing it."

The ball of water exploded in her face, catching her off guard. Sputtering in protest, she wiped her face with the hem of her shirt and gave him a Look.

"Seymour!" she groaned.

"If you can't shield, learn to duck," came the smug reply.

"Do you try to drown everyone you run into or just me?"

"Only the ones who deserved it."

There was something about the expression he had that chilled her. She tried to remind herself that of all her cases, this one probably had the darkest past. Though she remembered next to nothing of her other earthly lives, she remembered the feeling she got each time the darkness was exposed. Immediately, an image of a massive tsunami came to mind and the blood drained from her face. Despite being glad that Seymour was recovering, she wasn't sure how she felt about him regaining his very destructive powers. If he should use them unethically, she would be the one held responsible in the eyes of Spira for bringing him back.

"Second thoughts, then?" he asked, reading her expression very accurately.

"No," she replied, though it wasn't very convincing. How many others had perished at his hands? Ten? A hundred? Thousands? Were they all acts of self-defense or murder? Or murder by perceived self-defense? How was it that a man who'd seemed so fragile just a few days ago could cause the blood to freeze in her veins? Melody shook her head as if trying to dislodge the thought. Frozen veins…he probably _had_ been able to do that at one time.

Seymour watched her out of the corner of his eye. To an unobservant person, she didn't really seem to act any different other than avoiding eye contact a little more. To a Guado, who was both magic-sensitive and smell-sensitive, it was different. He could smell her unease, her guardedness. No longer did she appear to be the type who believed in the best of everyone. The determination was still there, though—the determination to prove him wrong about himself. As he continued to play with the rain drops, he let his mind wander a little bit. What was going to happen once he returned home to Guadosalam? For that matter, what would happen if he ran into any of the Ronso? _They_ especially would not take this well.

"What did you have in mind when you brought me back here?" He finally broke the self-imposed silence. Melody's honeycomb of the Protect spell caused her to look orange with blue veins running through her body. It wavered and disappeared when she looked up.

"About what?" she asked.

"Where are we going? We can't stay here forever—even if we could, I won't."

Melody traced a design in the floor with her finger.

"I don't have any idea," she said quietly, "getting you going again was the only thing I knew about."

"Surely you had something in mind…a guess, even."

"Afraid not. That's Father's department."

"The next time you talk to him, ask him if he'd have the goodness to _explain_ it. I'm not exactly a popular person out there."

Melody had the expression of a scolded child.

"He won't say…at least not right now."

She heard him release a frustrated sigh and knew what he was thinking. Thankfully, he didn't argue with her though he clearly wanted to. He saw no point—she wasn't going to change her mind about this nonexistent deity.

"What do you want to do?" she asked finally.

_Now she asks that question…._

"Originally, my plans were to save Spira from its suffering—those…_guardians_…and Lady Yuna intercepted me at every turn. My last days were filled with attempts to get around them. They could not appreciate what I was trying to do for all of them. The whole of Spira could not understand."

Melody came to sit just a few feet in front of him.

"I admit that I don't understand," she told him, "where did you get that death equals non-suffering? You're proof that sometimes you continue to suffer even if you're dead."

"It was to be a sacrifice for the greater good."

Melody's expression was thoughtful for a moment.

"Okay, let me play Devil's Advocate here—you think you're freeing everyone from their hurt, their anger, their sadness, their fear, and every other undesirable emotion that they have to go through by killing them. There's a small chance that where I came from, that could potentially work, but only to a point because people _don't_ come back unless Father sends them back Himself. But here, there is absolutely no guarantee that you'll make it to the other side, the Farplane, unless you're one-hundred percent sure you're okay with dying. You kill a ton of people who you think are grieving and you Send them. But what happens if there are survivors? They're going to grieve and they're going to be angry that you took their friends and loved ones away. They come after you, so you kill them. But now we've found out that even Sending someone is no guarantee that they're going to _stay_ dead—they come back as Unsent. Some of them remain sort of rational, but the rest morph into fiends because they're mad. You kill the fiends, but even then, their Pyreflies are still smeared all over the living plane—I know that because I've seen a bunch of them in a few days and very few were good memories left behind. They can't move on. They can't rest. They can't sleep. They just know that they're furious, so the number of people and fiends you have to kill starts increasing exponentially. Pretty soon, you've taken away their breath, but Spira gets overrun by fiends and there's no more Summoners to send them. You try and do it all yourself if you want some freaking peace, but they'll just keep _coming_ and _coming._ The end result is that Spira is overrun with Unsent and fiends and you're back at square one because you've made their suffering even greater."

She placed her hand on his and watched him pull away from her with a look of disgust.

"Do you know _why_ that plan didn't work? Death wasn't your burden to carry, Seymour. It was never intended for you to take all that on your shoulders. There was only one who was ever capable of bearing it and I knew him in person. He took all that on his shoulders—every human or other sentient being—so that we wouldn't have to bear that all on our own souls. He knew we couldn't carry it. So why hold onto the idea that death solves everything? Wouldn't you rather live instead?"

"Clearly you have never suffered the way some of these people have," he said irritably.

"You would be surprised," Melody responded calmly, "if you cared what happened to Spira so much, why not help people _live_ better? Why not ease their pain in this world instead of inflicting more? Wouldn't that be the better way so that when they move on, they move on for good?"

She wished he could see what she saw. Despite being in the body of an ordinary human woman, Melody had remnants of her ethereal vision, the one that allowed her to see into a person's soul. She could see the hurt and suffering he had borne in his short life and that it was affecting everything he did or said.

"I tried," he snapped, "and still they continued down their path of destruction!"

"That's humanity for you," Melody said sympathetically, "always failing to learn from their mistakes. A lot of them learn too late. But you don't have to get stuck in that cycle—you were chosen to get another chance."

"A chance to do what, exactly?"

"To make a difference. I don't think you're a bad person deep down—you've just been hurt so much that you'd do anything to make it stop."

The cold fury had seeped through the mask. She could feel the vibrations of a temper explosion coming up, but she stayed calm and only talked more quietly to keep him from getting wound up: "No one should ever have to go through the things that you did. And if you do things right, they never will again."

It was time to leave. Before he could argue with her or potentially hit her with a spell, however harmless it may have been, she crossed the room and headed for the door. The storm was winding down and she was in dire need of some fresh air. The world had a clean, sweet scent now that the rain had lightened to a drizzle. The sea was a dark gray, but the waves weren't white-capping so much now. She inhaled deeply, relishing the cool air. Keeping one hand on her sword hilt, she simultaneously walked the ruins and stayed close to the central room in case Seymour needed something other than a cooling-off session. Thankfully, the storm had driven the fiends away for now and the only birds in the air were the harmless gray-white kind.

Seymour got up, shaking with anger. His fists were clenched so tightly that his sharp fingernails were digging into his palms. He thought he felt a trickle of blood, but he could have cared less. At this point, he would have traded an arm or leg just to put a good Thundara spell through that stupid girl's heart. Who did she think she was, giving him a lecture on morality?! She barely knew him! If she was supposed to be some type of guardian to him, where had she been when he needed her the most? Or this "Father"? If He was so great and powerful, why had he allowed all these terrible things to happen? Why didn't He save Lady Aderes or all the other guardians destined to become the Final Aeon? Why didn't he save all those poor Summoners from being consumed by an endless, bitter, fruitless cycle? She couldn't very well tell him that her precious father had "planned" that!

"Some God," he griped, kicking at one of the pots left by the fire. It skittered across the room with a satisfying series of clangs.

He wasn't sure when it actually happened, but it was something that sort of crept up on him. He had the odd feeling of being watched and whipped around, his violet eyes glancing in all directions. Normally, he knew that this feeling was usually right—it was one of the perks of being part Guado. It was why he'd lasted so long on the road before. Now, he couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from. His heart rate picked up a little as his eyes narrowed and began to scan the shadows. So far, he could see nothing. Melody had not come back inside yet.

"Who's there?!" he demanded in a dark whisper.

There was no answer, but he felt a very tangible presence in the room with him. It was a feeling he despised—he didn't like not knowing.

"Show yourself!" he demanded.

Nothing happened, but the presence seemed to be getting closer. It radiated invisible power and there was a gentleness, yet a very intimidating feel to it. Seymour saw in his mind's eye something that wasn't solid at all, but that eddied and flowed around him like a current. Goose-bumps dotted his arms and legs and he stood with his arms crossed, waiting for something to happen (that was probably bad). But nothing did happen. The presence wrapped itself around him for a few moments before dissipating. He was left very confused and apprehensive. When Melody finally returned, he was no longer infuriated, but quite nervous.

"You okay? Your color's kind of bad," she pointed out.

"I'm tired," he mumbled lamely, "my mind is playing tricks on me, that's all. I have quite an imagination at times."

"You should be resting—that magic you were doing earlier probably took it out of you."

He lay down on his bed without protest, gazing up at the patchy blue sky with its still-lingering clouds. He truly had no intention of falling asleep, but it didn't take long for the view to blur and darken. A ray of sunshine was coming through the hole, bathing him in its light. It warmed him pleasantly and his dreams, for once, were peaceful.

The next few days passed with only minor incidents. Seymour had gotten to see firsthand where Melody was getting their food; it seemed as though more would show up every time they would nearly run out—even if it was in the form of a fiend. Piranhas would show up quite frequently to try their luck only to find out that Melody was very fond of fried fish. It took her a long time to carve out the fillets, but they had more than enough meat to make up for the time delay. Since Seymour's hands were still healing up, it had fallen on her to drag them out of the water and clean them. Her face would turn this hilarious green-gray tint and she would beg him to talk to her so that she'd have a distraction.

"Tell me about where you came from, what life here's like…just anything…" She gulped audibly when the piranha's slick insides began to slide out. He'd laughed a little at first just because her expression was comical, but then described Guadosalam to her in great detail. Before long, she had a stack of fillets on one of the plates and turned everything else back over to the sea. More piranhas would probably come because the fishy fiends had no qualms about eating their own kind. She scrubbed her hands in the ocean as Seymour described his house.

"The whole thing's made out of a _tree? _I can't wait to see it!" she exclaimed, forgetting her squeamishness.

"Neither can I," he said emphatically, "there's just the matter of how we're getting off this island."

Melody frowned.

"To be honest, I really don't know…it was so much easier when I had wings. Even when I take your stitches out, I don't think it's a good idea to try to swim all that way. I can't hold my breath very long at all."

As Seymour regained his strength and she took the stitches out one wound at a time, they searched the ruins together. As predicted, they didn't find anything that would serve as a boat.

"How did _you_ get out of here the first time?" Melody asked.

"My exile was revoked and a boat was sent for me," Seymour replied, "I do not count on having such luck this time around."

That evening, she was able to take the last of the stitches out of the deepest wound. His ribs no longer hurt when he moved and he was even getting to where he could help her do things if only to relieve his boredom. His magical abilities were also slowly returning, though he could still only manage the weaker spells. They sometimes had a game going where she would cast the Protect spell she'd been working on for days now and he would see how many things he could hit it with before it broke. She seemed to have a little bit of nerves with fire as well as lightning, so he took a sort of savage pleasure in hurling fireballs at her.

"Oh, come on! I'm starting to sweat over here!" she objected after the ninth or tenth one. Seymour dropped to one knee feeling dizzy and exhausted. His tendril of blue-violet bang stuck to his forehead with perspiration.

"No way! I actually _beat_ you?" she exclaimed, letting the shield drop.

"Don't get cocky," he replied, "I haven't achieved my full power yet."

He thought to take her by surprise, as there was just enough magic left for one more spell. Instinctively, she ducked and flung her arms over her face. A curve of green-white light blasted out from her curled arms. The fireball hit it and ricocheted off, causing Seymour to have to flatten himself into the floor to avoid being hit. He stared at Melody incredulously just as she looked up.

"Huh?" she asked, puzzled, "Why does it look different?"

The greenish-white semi-sphere-shaped light slowly evaporated.

"When did you learn Reflect?" he asked, puzzled.

"I…don't know," she confessed, "I feel like I've seen it before, but I don't remember actually learning it. You didn't draw this one in my book."

She traced the air where the spell had been. The only conclusion she could come to was that she might have learned it from his memories.

"If we can make light _solid…_" she thought out loud, "…maybe we can use it to get across the water."

Seymour sighed in frustration, mopping his face with his sleeve.

"It wouldn't even _be_ an issue if I had my staff back," he grumbled, "then we could simply _walk_ across."

Melody stared at him in disbelief.

"Did you just say you could _walk_ on _water_?"

"Of course," he said, mildly annoyed, "all the Summoners can do it. That's how we can Send a great deal of the dead without having to step over the bodies constantly. Have you never heard of it?"

She shook her head.

"I knew someone who did a very long time ago…my brother…but that was on Earth where magic didn't exactly exist…"

"How did they do it, then?" Seymour asked incredulously, "I trust that the water wasn't _frozen._"

"No. In fact, it was more alive than ever," Melody said, "it was storming really badly that night—really big waves higher than castles and the boat that his friends in was rocking this way and that way and threatening to go under. But there he was, just ignoring it all. His friend tried, too, and would have made it, but it was like he remembered gravity existed at the wrong time. He would have drowned if my brother hadn't been so close. I can only say he did it because he believed he could."

Seymour didn't say anything and kept his expression carefully masked. Underneath, however, he was planning something. Since Melody _always_ seemed to know what he was thinking (or at least when he wasn't feeling well), he had to be careful to think about something else in her presence. That night, however, as they watched the sun go down and the moon rise as had become their unspoken ritual, Seymour positioned himself carefully behind her. The tide had come in and the water was nearly exactly level with the stone they were standing on. He moved so quietly that his robes didn't even rustle. With a devilish grin, he shoved Melody forward…

And sighed when she face-planted in the water with an enormous splash. It took her a moment to resurface. When she did, she clung to the side of the rock, coughing ocean out of her lungs.

"Seymour, was there a good reason for that?" she asked, wiping her dripping hair out of her face.

"Yes, actually. I wanted to see if these 'water-walking' genes were present in you as well as this brother of yours," he said, clearly disappointed, "I suppose the answer is 'no'."

She scrambled back up onto the rock.

"I can't very well prepare myself for it if I'm shoved in unexpectedly," she warned him, wringing out her skirt, "besides, what if more fish-monsters came up? A chewed-up guardian isn't of much use to you, is she?"

He wanted to say something insulting, but he restrained himself. There was something about seeing her clothes all plastered down and heavy with the freezing water that made her look woefully pathetic.

"Very well," he said quietly, "I'll give you until tomorrow."

"Why the rush?" she asked.

"Why the delay?" he countered.

She responded by shaking like a dog and spattering him with water droplets before going inside.

The next morning should have, by all circumstances, been perfect for this experiment. The sun rose brilliantly red-orange. There were fluffy pink and purple clouds in the sky, but they were harmless and threatened neither rain nor lightning. The sea was deceptively quiet, the peaks of the waves gentle. Melody and Seymour each carried a pack with their supplies, trying to divide the load up so that she was actually carrying the heavier items—though his wounds had closed, he was still weak and tired easily. He had put up a good argument to this, most of it having to do more with his pride than out of gentlemanly duty, but Melody had out-stubborned him. They stood side by side on the farthest stone out for a minute or two before she drew in a deep breath.

"Shall we?"

She offered her arm to him, knowing that this would probably only work if they were touching. Seymour linked his arm with hers only after a second's hesitation. Then, she stepped off the rock.

"Help me, Father…" she whispered. For an agonizing second, he saw her start to sink and strained to pull her back up, as he had not stepped off yet, but then she began to rise a little again. That strange charged feeling filled the air, the one that made him feel as if there was another presence. Melody's eyes had closed and she stepped forward again. This time, her footing seemed quite sure—she swayed only a little with the gentle rhythm of the waves. She started forward, pulling him with her. He had no choice but to obey the pressure, as he was getting thrown off-balance. Clinging to her arm out of reflex more than actual need to stay up, he felt an invisible force pulling him upright. His heart rate increased a little….what was doing that?

Melody's eyes did eventually open again, but she had that faraway blanked-out expression. They didn't talk as they stepped through the waves—she seemed to be using all her mental energy to focus on what she was doing and he didn't want to risk breaking her concentration. Each time he thought of letting go of her arm, he would feel himself start to sink.

"We're almost there," she said, sounding strange. Her voice had taken on a strange misty quality. He didn't answer, simply fixed his gaze on the horizon. He couldn't tell which direction she meant. For that matter, were they even going the right way? He supposed it didn't matter—sooner or later, they were going to hit land unless they just veered off course badly. As far as he could see, they were still going in a straight line. Baaj Temple had vanished behind them. There was nothing but water as far as the eye could see. The sun had faded from red to orange then to gold. Now, it was blazing overhead causing black spots to dance in their vision. Every wave looked very much like the same. The shock and awe at just being able to do this was beginning to wear off and he was beginning to feel a little fatigued. The blazing sun made their faces burn while the mist and the water soaked their shoes and the bottom hems of their clothes. After what felt like hours of walking, Seymour was dying for a drink. The fact that they were surrounded by ocean water only seemed to amplify his thirst. It was as if the moisture had migrated from his mouth and throat to the middle of his back, his palms, and his forehead and multiplied. Just as he was beginning to feel a bit shaky, he finally glanced in the direction Melody had been staring at and saw a smudge of brown and green. He didn't change outwardly, but he was overjoyed inside. With that joy came fear—how long would they have peace and rest before someone saw him and came after him? He swallowed hard, which hurt because of the dryness, and tried to think about something else. The sun was, at least, starting to dip a little lower in the horizon. Darkness would make him feel safer.

They reached the shore just as "golden hour" set in. He felt the force disappear and they both dropped unexpectedly into the surf. Despite being thoroughly drenched, it felt wonderful for their burned skin to get some cold on it. Seymour's thick Guado skin had provided more protection than Melody's soft pale human skin. She was as red as a cherry, especially on her cheeks. For the first time since this morning, she seemed to remember that he was there.

"I can't believe we didn't run into a single fiend," she breathed, "I was so sure we were going to run into some trouble."

Seymour didn't say anything. Digging one of the canteens out of the bag, he drained it dry without stopping. He had forgotten what a royal _pain_ being alive was—when he'd been Unsent, he never got hungry or thirsty though he could eat or drink if he just felt like it. He couldn't remember having to sleep or use the bathroom, either. All of these physical needs were aggravating and every single one of them was quite high at the moment. Melody crawled into the shade, relishing the cushion of the cool grass there. She unshouldered her pack and used it as a pillow. Her eyes were starting to close as he shifted awkwardly.

"Stay there….I'll be back in a moment."

"Mmmm-hmmm…." She sighed sleepily. He was glad she didn't question it. While he walked into the cover of a thick clump of trees, he resolved to help her set up camp when he got back. She seemed even more tired than he was. He straightened his robes and went to rejoin her on the beach. Melody was fast asleep where he'd left her, her breath coming in gentle waves. He supposed the first thing to do was get a fire going. Though it was still quite warm now, it would get cold again this close to the water once the sun had gone down. It would also be harder to find wood in the dark. It took what seemed like an eternity to get enough fuel for even a small one. At least he could get it going with magic…he never realized how grateful he was to be able to touch the wood and watch the orange flames blossom from his palm. Deep down, he had to admit that it felt good not to be useless for a change. He sat back and watched in satisfaction as the flames licked at all the sticks he'd gathered. Then, he dug one of the fish fillets out of his pack and devoured it. His manners were probably atrocious, but who was around to see? Feeling a million times better, he reclined against the tree that Melody was laying under and let the hypnotic rhythm of the waves lull him to sleep.

What he woke to might have been a dream. Sometime between him dropping off and now, the sun's intensity had faded from gold to red and it sank into its own bed somewhere in the ocean. The sky was a soft blue-black and the sliver of crescent moon looked like a smile, as it was tipped on its side. The air was pleasantly cool. More wood had been added onto the fire and Melody was awake now. He realized that she'd spread a blanket over him. He looked around for her until he saw a swarm of Pyreflies.

_Of course…_

She was spinning around and around in circles, the Pyreflies floating around her. Her skirt flared out much in the same way that a dancer's would and caught the moonlight in its slightly shiny silver fabric. She toppled over into the sand, laughing breathlessly and clutching her now-dizzy head. She reminded him of a little girl that had found a new toy. After a moment, she shakily got to her feet and shook the sand off her clothes.

"Father…I wish…he could laugh like this…"

There was that presence again. He'd given up on trying to figure out where it was or _what_ it was.

"I just can't make sense of it all," she confessed, "this place is so odd…so different. So beautiful and so deadly at the same time. It's strange to be in a place full of wild animals and fiends and very physical threats. All the things I fought before were things only I could see…things that were more subtle and hidden in the shadows. And then there's Seymour…"

She paused, digging her bare toes into the sand. Her shoes were laying haphazardly in the grass where she'd kicked them off.

"He doesn't want to talk to me," she said, "he'll tell me about places, but he talks about them so objectively like he's giving a college lecture. There's no _him_ in there—he's walled it off from everyone including himself."

Only a blowing wind answered. Or maybe that was only what he _heard._

"I know. It takes time, but mortal lives feel so _short…_especially mine…" she sighed, "Will I have enough time?"

Wind again.

"Yeah, you're right. Whatever I've got's enough. How do I do it, though?"

Seymour strained his ears hard, trying to pick out any discernible voice from the wind, but he couldn't hear it even with his enhanced senses.

"Okay…of course I trust you. You made him, too."

She glanced over at him. Seymour saw her head start to turn and promptly feigned sleep.

"It's heartbreaking that everyone gave him such a hard time…I feel all that pain every time I touch him…just because he's different. He's the first known human-Guado hybrid and now he's the first…what do we call him here? Re-Sent? I can seal his cuts, I can break his fevers, I can even restart his heart, but I can't un-break it. I suppose that's your job, huh?"

She turned her back to him again, looking out at the sea they'd crossed only hours ago.

"I guess we're in for a long trip, huh?"

Seymour noticed something when she turned. The sword she carried was _glowing._ Not just shimmering because the moon was hitting it, but actually _glowing._ Whatever it was made of was reacting to the invisible presence.

"As long as you're here, I'm up for anything," she said, replying to an invisible speaker. They talked for a few minutes longer. When she returned to the fire, she realized that Seymour was awake. Feeling strange, he waited for her to get situated before asking, "Who were you talking with just now?"

"Father," she said calmly.

"I didn't see anyone there but you."

Melody nodded.

"Anyone fleshed _can't_ see Him unless He appears in a different form," Melody said, "He can never appear to the living as His true self because the light would burn through us. He's been known to take a physical form now and then, though…He might appear to you at some point."

The sword, he noted, was not glowing now.

"I hope he does," Seymour muttered, "I don't feel comfortable with someone following me that I can't see."

"He's like the wind at times," Melody told Seymour, "you can't always see Him—but you can always tell where He's just been. See?"

Seymour had to get up to look where she was pointing. He stared, bewildered, at the second set of tracks in the sand. There was no way that Melody could have made them—they were all in step with hers. They were larger, however, and they sank in deeper than Melody's. There was absolutely no way that she could have made them—he'd been watching her.

"Where did those come from?"

"I told you—they're His prints."

He said nothing. There really wasn't anything to say. It chilled him and he decided to drop the subject. Instead, he asked, "How long was I asleep for?"

"Not long," Melody said, "a few hours. I kept watch, don't worry."

"Have you seen any fiends?"

"No. Not yet…."

"Take care not to go into the woods alone."

"But you did."

"I was still within earshot. Stay close."

"Okay."

She played absently with the sand.

"You sound a little disappointed, actually," Melody said, "that nothing's happened."

"It would be a mixed blessing," Seymour replied, "I have traveled all over Spira and learned two things: first, that specific types of fiends are drawn to certain areas, and second, that the local 'wildlife' as they put it, can act as landmarks. The disadvantage, of course, is that you lack the training to deal with some of them."

Melody gulped.

"Like what kind?"

"We should wait until morning to discuss that. I don't want to give you nightmares," Seymour said, "and we're bound to run into some of them soon."

He gestured to where her resting spot had been earlier.

"Get some rest. It is my turn to keep watch."

She did, but it took her a long time to get to sleep. When she did finally sleep, however, she dreamed of things coming out of the woods. She jerked just as some fanged creature reached her and awoke with a jerk. Heart thundering, she looked around.

"S-Seymour?"

"Over here," he said, sounding annoyed. A gout of flame flowed from both palms, hitting a strange white thing floating towards him. Melody could sense by its presence that it wasn't friendly. Drawing her sword, she struck at it again and again, but it seemed undeterred.

"What the heck is this thing?!"

A shower of ice shards glittered both beautifully and dangerously in the moonlight before it struck her. She responded by stabbing her sword through the middle of it. While it didn't hurt it much, it distracted it enough for Seymour to finish it off with a burst of fire. She shivered violently, as there were patches of frost still on her arms and face. Had she been facing any other way, she'd have missed the huge wolf-beast that leapt out at them.

"Seymour!" Melody screamed, instinctively casting Protect. The wolf's teeth sought him out, but it slammed into the force-field instead. It crashed apart, but at least she'd kept him from the worst of it. Seymour turned and sent a lethal-looking spear of ice down its throat and Melody plunged her sword into its chest.

"Oh, my goodness…." She half-whispered, half-sobbed shakily. Jerking it free, she watched the Pyreflies floating upward, not realizing that she had a death-grip on Seymour's arm. Despite her shaking, he tugged it free and flexed it a few times to restore the blood-flow.

"You had better get used to it," he warned, "there will be more. Many more. On the upside, I know where we are now, or at least have an educated guess."


	4. Chapter 4

The sun came up after a night of fitful sleep in shifts. Melody had fended off two more of those wolf-creatures called Mi'ihen Fangs. Shortly after the sun had risen, Seymour saw her scribbling in her book again. She had tried to go back to sleep earlier, but it had taken her a long time. It seemed as if she'd just drifted off when it was her turn to keep watch. She didn't complain, however, and had wandered over to the fire to warm up, bleary-eyed and messy-haired. The Mi'ihen Fangs were looking for an easy meal, but they'd found out she was more trouble than she was worth. She'd began an index of sorts in her book on the page after Seymour's spell diagrams, hoping that she would eventually remember all the different ways to get rid of fiends quickly. Her sword, she lamented, had gotten far more use than she'd hoped. After a quick breakfast-while-packing-up and putting out their fire, they were on the road again soon. Much to Seymour's chagrin, they were forced to cross Mushroom Rock.

"What happened here? It's so…dark…feeling," Melody asked. Seymour stared out across the waters. Very much like that day, a storm looked like it was about to blow in. Pyreflies glinted around him, seeming to be drawn to their presences. A few people that were further out on the beach were lighting some candles and discussing something.

"Something very bad," he replied truthfully, "a lot of lives were lost here once. I see they've built a memorial for them."

"What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Melody nodded.

"I can go ask them, then!"

She started towards the people, but Seymour held her back by her shoulder.

"It is best if no one knows we're here," he warned, "I am too recognizable. And you…well, if you were to be seen with me, your life would be in danger as well. This Father of yours may protect you, but that's no excuse to be reckless."

"You're right," she sighed, "Seymour, you need a makeover."

Seymour's eyes narrowed at the word. It disgusted him and made him think of a bunch of teenage girls plastering makeup on each other's faces and trying on clothes that looked ridiculous. Stepping behind a group of rocks that shielded them from the view of others, Melody studied him carefully.

"The robes will have to go, probably," she said, hands on her hips, "and that spiky hair for sure. We can trim your nails, but we won't be able to do much with your face-veins. About all I can suggest there is a hood or a cloak that casts shadow on your face. I really hate to do that since your coloring is so unique, but I'd hate to see you get killed more."

He grudgingly had to admit that she was probably right.

"Let's just get out of here first," she said, "I've got nothing to work with right now."

The beach was full of stuff people had left behind carelessly, though. She managed to find a pocket knife, a sheet, and a couple of random potions. While Seymour was forced to stay in hiding during her search, he peered around the rocks to see something that startled him: machina. There were machines _everywhere._ There were boats jetting through the water and hovercrafts zooming into the clouds overhead. There were people talking and laughing and hanging out on the beach with things they wanted to add to the unofficial memorial. He didn't see a single Chocobo in sight.

Melody returned after a while, her arms full of things. She hadn't taken anything that looked new or that was near anyone's camp, but things that were being tossed about in the waves or were half-buried in sand were fair game to her.

"So…I heard something very interesting just a minute ago," she said, laying the things out on one of the rocks, "they were saying this was the _second_ anniversary of Operation Mi'ihen."

Seymour stared at her uncomprehendingly.

"_What?_"

"Se-con-d Aan-iv-er-sa-ry," Melody enunciated, though she looked very troubled, "we were gone much longer than we thought…"

Seymour's heart felt as if it had stopped, then it began to race and pound, causing his blood pressure to spike. The darkening of his face veins made his face look all the more pale.

"Um…why don't you sit down? You don't look so good…"

"_Two_ _years,_" he choked out, "I've been gone for _two years?_"

"Yeah…"

"I thought you said it only took a few months!"

Melody sighed.

"I thought it did," she admitted, "but time passes differently for me. You have to understand that I have no way of knowing in that form—no hunger, no sleep, no reason to pause, no markers at all for time. You've been an Unsent after all…"

He opened his mouth to argue with her, but snapped it shut again. True, he had not needed much as an Unsent. But he'd always been able to tell how much time had passed by simply watching other people and the lightness and darkness of day and night. In the Via Infinito, time was meaningless—no one slept or ate (except perhaps those savage fiends that had feasted on his pseudo-body) and there was no natural light. She'd had nothing to go on and time really_ did_ seem to pass differently for the dead. Sighing, he placed his head in his hands. Melody tried to comfort him by hugging him, but he pushed her away. He didn't want to be touched right now.

"I guess you need a minute, huh?"

She sat down and began organizing her "treasure finds". Once Seymour stopped reacting to her as she approached him, she went to work on trying to alter his appearance a bit. The first thing she did was give him a haircut. It pained her to cut through the long horn-like spikes because they were just always what she'd associated with him. Though she did her best to smooth down what was left, his hair still insisted on sticking straight out though it was now the same length as the rest of it. She smoothed it down as best as she could, then shortened his signature bang a bit and smoothed it over his forehead. It wasn't long before the bangs twined back together—Guado hair was strange like that. She tried again, hoping it would hide the veins on his forehead but it wouldn't stay. At least they were partially obscured…she then fashioned a cloak out of the sheet. For such a tall man, it would be woefully short and probably a little silly-looking, but at least it would help conceal Seymour's face. She arranged it every-which-way before she got a satisfactory result and pinned it in place.

"Well…that's about the best I can do for now," she remarked, "at least I can't see your face very well. Other people won't be able to, either. Just make sure you face away from the wind. Oh, and one more thing…"

Grabbing the sides of his robes, she tugged them shut so that his chest was no longer showing and pinned them closed at the base of the neck. The tattoos, she reasoned, would definitely stick out to anyone who had known Seymour well. Two years wasn't enough to forget all these little details. Despite his discomfort, Seymour endured the changes and the resulting heat that came with them. These robes were far too heavy to wear closed all the time, but it was that or be killed. He glanced back at the piles of hair that they'd left behind and Melody quickly nudged some sand over them with her foot. They walked right past all the tourists there and only got stopped once.

"Hey, you know that's a really good replica," a teenage boy remarked, "those look just like the Maester robes that Seymour used to wear! Farplane only knows why anyone would wanna look like that guy, but who am I to judge?"

He laughed a little and his alcohol-fumed breath told Melody how exactly they escaped being in serious trouble. She smiled politely and they quickened their pace.

"That was close," Melody sighed when they were in the clear again, "we're gonna have to find you some new clothes."

"I'm afraid you're in for quite the chore then," Seymour said, "I had to have these custom-tailored due to my size."

Melody's gaze panned from the top of his now-hooded head to his feet.

"Yeah, I know. I have to tilt my head back or else I end up talking to your stomach," she laughed, "were either of your parents this big?"

"Not that I know of. Unless we want to wait around and risk being found out, we will have to make our way to my home," Seymour said, "and even then, we're not guaranteed that any of my things will still be there."

"At least you'll be safe then," Melody said, "I hope…it'll be good to get away from all these fiends. And this dark energy…"

She closed her eyes and shuddered.

"I see people in a lot of pain plowing into the ocean on those big bird things…and getting swept away into nothing…"

Her eyes seemed to glaze over and her face went gray.

"What's the matter with you! We have to _go!_ NOW!" Seymour hissed.

"It's….it's…."

He seized her arm and dragged her away from the beach. The Pyreflies danced ominously close, chasing her. Seymour could tell the way her mouth was opening that she was going to scream. He clamped one hand over her mouth and dragged her back into the woods. Once they were in the relative safety of the clump of trees, Melody seemed to be coming around again and the vibrations against Seymour's hand ceased. He'd have been furious with her if he hadn't seen where she'd been staring. She was shaking violently, but her eyes cleared.

"What _was_ that?" she asked.

"Nothing but a shadow of the past now," he said quietly, "there's no point in screaming at something that isn't there."

"But what was that?" she insisted, "I saw you there…I _felt_ you there. And that thing…"

"I don't want to talk about it," he insisted, "and I don't want you bringing that up again. If anymore of those damned Pyreflies come up to you, you force them to leave, understood? We're getting out of here right this minute and I don't care how many fiends I have to go through to get off this damn beach!"

Melody winced at the sharpness in his voice.

"Okay," she whimpered, sounding like a little girl, "…right behind you."

Something whizzed past overhead, loud and close enough to ruffle their hair. Seymour glanced up, annoyed. More flying machines…he wondered what else in Spira had gone to Hell while he'd been dead. He glanced sideways at his traveling companion. Her shoulders were slumped and she was looking at the ground more than anything else. Her hand gripped the hilt of her sword so hard that her knuckles were turning white. She had a strange weary, older-than-she-looked sort of vibe coming from her. Whatever she'd seen and experienced took a lot of out of her back at Mushroom Rock. He remembered that her short, chubby little legs couldn't possibly keep up with his enormous strides and slowed his pace to match hers. She'd be no good at fighting if she was tired—and it was hard for her as it was. A moment later, when some of the numerous fiends cornered them, she didn't even so much as gasp. It took her a great deal of effort to arc the sword at one of the annoying lizards who tried to scratch her and give her the Stone curse. It still managed to rip a gash in her leg and she dropped to one knee, using her sword for support.

"Stay there!" he told her, casting Protect, "Stop the bleeding!"

He wiped a Thunder Flan into oblivion with a massive tidal wave and fried another one of those annoying lizards with a blast of fire. The spells were a bit beyond his capacity and he felt rather drained when it was all over with. He breathed a sigh of relief when nothing else came into the fray. Everything was quiet now again. Melody had retrieved a potion bottle from the first-aid box, but she was having trouble getting the top off. He took it impatiently, twisted the cork out, and put it back in her hand. She seemed to have trouble swallowing and had to take tiny sips to get it all down. Fortunately, the scratch wasn't all that deep, it was just one that bled a lot. The cut sealed up after a few minutes.

"Can you get up now?"

She tested her leg. It didn't hurt. Her breath had slowed, so she didn't appear to be in any pain. But he couldn't help but think there was something wrong with her.

"Do we need to stop?" he finally asked despite his earlier impatience.

"No," came the quiet reply, "I'm better now."

She shouldered her pack once more and took a couple of steps before glancing back at him. Seymour hoped she wasn't lying to him. The sun had dipped downward, making the sky turn a pleasant orange.

"We'll be in Djose shortly," he informed her, "we will rest there tonight."

"Okay."

He tried to keep his head down in the fading light, but it was hard not to stare. There were far more people here now than there used to be. Some of them bore crests that vaguely resembled his chest tattoos on the sides with a periwinkle circular center. A black outline around that gave the impression of a horned flower. Others had hearts with each of the curves containing an empty circle. Puzzled, he tried to figure out what these things were and what they meant. Melody apparently didn't know either, for she tugged on his sleeve and whispered, "What's with the hearts and the weird flowers?"  
"I don't know," he admitted, "I've never seen these crests before."

They somehow managed to get past everyone without bumping into anyone and stayed in the shadows. Everyone here had traveler's packs and they heard "Youth League", "Leblanc Syndicates", and "New Yevonites".

"They're saying something about 'sphere-hunting'," Melody whispered, "why's that? How do you hunt spheres?"

He shrugged. They were in a decently-sized throng of people, so it wasn't really safe to talk out loud. They managed to make it into the town where there were even _more_ people. Seymour tugged the hood of his homemade cloak down a little more. He still had his fingers gripping the material when the breath froze in his lungs.

A very familiar face had just appeared in the crowd. If one had been observing Seymour closely in that moment, they would have actually seen his pupils dilate and the bluish veins on his face darken, the Guado equivalent of a flush. His heart began to thunder and sweat popped out on his palms. He watched as probably the most beautiful girl—no, woman now—in the whole of Spira tossed her dark brown hair back as she laughed. There was more color in her cheeks now, and the outfit she wore was _quite_ revealing. Gone were the days of the downcast eyes, the solemn pursed mouth, the flowing white and purple dresses, and the firm but humble resolve. She still had a soft, quiet voice, but she spoke more boldly. He recognized the even more scantily dressed woman beside her as Rikku, the Al-Bhed brat that had probably relieved him of more valuables during battle than he cared to admit. He didn't really recognize anyone else with them. The tough-looking woman dressed all in black with the short hair certainly looked like a force to be reckoned with, though.

Melody followed his gaze to them.

"Someone you recognize," she said, not exactly asking. A small incline of his head was her answer. She saw the laughing woman and remembered her from some of Seymour's more intense fever dreams.

"Yuna," he breathed her name like a prayer, "she lives…and yet, where is that blonde whelp that claimed to be her guardian? Why is he not at her side?"

Tidus had been one of his greatest annoyances ever. The bratty spiky-haired youth had antagonized him from the very beginning and they had both taken an instant dislike to each other from moment one. Tidus had once told him right as they were squaring off to fight that he talked too much—Seymour would always remember _him_ as "that stupid kid that never shut up". He'd heard hardly anyone else _but_ Tidus talking. And yet Yuna had been very fond of him—Yevon only knew why. But he was nowhere to be seen. Seymour couldn't even smell him. Odd…

"Blonde? Now that you mention it…"

He turned to look at Melody.

"Well?" he pressed.

"I saw a blonde kid around seventeen enter the gates," Melody informed him, "he was around that one's age…did he have funny clothes on, like sides that didn't match?"

"That's the one," Seymour grumbled, "so it's true, then? He's dead?"

"As far as I know," Melody confirmed, "I don't remember much about home right now, but I do remember him. I'm the one who let him in."

"You might have made a mistake then," Seymour half-joked, "you'll have to listen to his irritating voice all day. He's worse than some of the fiends we've fought."

Melody giggled.

"And being jealous has nothing to do with how much you seem to hate this guy?"

"Not in the least," he answered truthfully, "I was far too busy to feel such petty emotions."

"If you say so…is that the inn over there?"

"Yes, that's it. Let's go before she sees me."

Melody could see the beads of sweat collecting on what little skin was still exposed.

"Let me do the talking," she told him, "your voice is very…distinctive."

She grabbed Seymour's hand and sauntered up to the man behind the counter.

"One room, please," she said cheerfully, "for us happy newlyweds."

Seymour rolled his eyes. _Really?_ That was the best she could come up with?

The man grinned and said something flirtatious in the Al-Bhed language. Melody pinked in the cheeks and took the key.

"Come on, Sweetness!" she dragged Seymour along behind her.

"Good luck," the guy said with a wink. Seymour tried not to let his utter disgust show and reminded himself to give Melody a good zap later.

"Newlyweds? _That's _our story?" he asked irritably, letting his pack thud noisily in the floor.

"It was all I could think of," Melody protested, "you have to give me a little bit of a break. I'm new at this."

She kicked her shoes off. First one, then the other, thunked noisily against the wall. Then, her eyes fell on the bed.

"Ooh…." She sprinted over to it and pressed into the mattress with her palms. Then, she climbed up on it and started to jump.

"You really should stop that," he scolded, "you're going to get hurt!"

"NEVER! It's like jumping on a cloud!" Melody squealed and laughed like a little girl. Every time she landed, the headboard would thump against the wall.

"_Enough,_" Seymour growled, snatching her off the bed and putting her in the floor.

"Ah, you're no fun," Melody griped before settling into the cushiony chair. Unknown to either one of them, the desk-guy and a few of the employees were standing there with their ears pressed to the door. Upon realizing that they weren't going to hear anything else amusing, they all left. She yawned and lay her head against the arm of it. The way she was situated, one arm was behind her head and her body was scrunched into a fetal position. The other arm was under her knees. Her torn and bloodied skirt fanned out around her, a tragic silver stained with red though none of the wounds remained now. Seymour glanced from her to the bed then back again.

"Are you sure you want to sleep there?" he asked.

"Of course. I'm not as big as you are," Melody said, "you probably take up the whole thing, right?"

He started to argue that it wouldn't be the _whole_ thing, but then his mouth clamped shut. If she was willing to let him have the bed, why not take her up on it? He could let her have the next one. Besides, it would be too awkward…he knew for a fact he rolled a lot in his sleep, what if he squashed her? Or worse? He could feel his facial veins darkening, the Guado equivalent of a blush, but she was already closing her eyes and didn't see. He took off his makeshift cloak and lay it over the footboard of the bed. He blew out the candle and started to lie down, but sat back up after a second. Then, he carried the blanket over to the chair and spread it over Melody. She mumbled something unintelligible and clutched it closer to her. His conscience slightly eased, he finally collapsed on the bed. It was so good to sleep on a surface that wasn't hard. He could almost fool himself that he was back in Guadosalam where he belonged, back in the comfortable manor with limitless food and pleasantly cool, beautifully colored spaces.

When he awoke, Melody was nowhere in sight. Scribbled on the back of some flier was a note in her round, loopy, child-like writing left in his hand: "Went for breakfast. Stay here please—be back soon!" The exclamation point was dotted with a big smiley face. Seymour sighed. He sincerely hoped that she wouldn't get into any trouble. Not really knowing one's way around could cause some problems. Then there was that whole issue of just being different…his deepest fear, of course, was that she would reveal his identity. But surely she wouldn't save him just to get people after him?

The hardest thing, he knew, was for him to trust people. The few times he'd managed it over the course of his twenty-eight years had not worked out so well. It was probably better not to fret about it, so he stripped off his Summoner's robes and ran a bath. He had the disconcerting suspicion that Melody had probably bathed him back at the temple, at least during his time of being unconscious. He couldn't remember a time since and he was very overdue. Sliding into the hot water, he submerged his head, soaking his now shortened hair. It was strange not to have the huge horn-like locks or the large clump of bang—he felt oddly lightheaded now that they were gone. She had left the rest of his hair alone, but it still seemed foreign to him. He kept having to resist the urge to run his fingers through it. One by one, he examined his scars as he scrubbed. Many of them were faint enough that no one would notice. Others had turned into soft pale pink lines. Even by a Guado's standards, he had healed quickly. There were only faint markings where the beasts had torn into him. His skin had tanned quite a bit as well. He'd lost a great deal of weight, but it would come back in time. As he was toweling off, he wondered if Yuna was still in the city or not. He was so absorbed in thought that he didn't hear the door open. Thinking he'd be alone for a bit longer, he'd forgotten to close the bathroom door.

"Seymour, guess what?! They have COFFEE! Oh my goodness, I never thought I'd see it again! It was so good that I had three cups and that nice lady gave it to me for free and she said you could have one and you've got to try one of these pastry things—"

She was talking so fast he could barely keep up with her. Her cheeks were flushed, probably from the excessive amount of caffeine she'd drank, and her arm was full of pastry boxes. Little flecks of frosting and glaze still clung to the corners of her mouth. He barely had a chance to wrap the towel around his waist before she saw him. The odd thing was that she didn't really appear to notice his state of undress at all.

"—and I found you some new clothes! It was a booger trying to find your size, I mean, how many seven-foot tall guys are there in this world? But I'm sure they'll fit, I measured you while you were still asleep so you wouldn't squirm and—"

It was safe to say that he was getting tired again just listening to her.

"—and there's going to be a _concert_ today! We have to see that before we go! I love music!"

She finally ran out of air and sucked in a deep breath. The towel was starting to slip dangerously, so he held it up with one hand.

"Melody, where are the clothes?" he asked, trying not to let her see his obvious discomfort. As tall as he was, that towel just didn't cover enough for comfort.

"Here you go!" Melody said, bringing him the box, "I hope you like green!"

Seymour took the box and stepped back into the bathroom. He closed the door and let out a big sigh of relief. _That_ had been a close one! He lifted the lid from the box and inspected the contents. In keeping with the whole "anonymous traveler" theme, she'd brought him robes that were a deep forest-green color with lighter designs of twining leaves in a more minty color as an accent. The sash was a plain black one and the pants that went underneath were black as well. She'd also brought him a hooded cloak that was a deep plum color. This one at least didn't look like a beggar had owned it. But surely they'd have cost a lot more money than they had—and then there was all that food. Wondering how she managed it, he slung the cloak over his shoulder since he didn't need to wear it in here, he went out to ask.

Melody was already tearing through the pastries. She looked like a little kid with smears of jelly filling all over her hands and face. It took her a second to realize he was standing there. Dabbing at her face with a napkin, she said, "Wow…that's a nice color for you. Bet it reminds you of home, huh?"

"Not exactly," he told her, "our trees were blue. But thank you."

"You're welcome."

Once the scent of cherries hit his nose, he realized he was ravenously hungry, then wondered why. Sure, a huge man like him needed more, but why did he suddenly want to eat _all the time?_ Melody handed him one of the other boxes. For a while, they did nothing but stuff their faces. When at last all the pastries were washed down with the coffee (which she obviously didn't need any more of), Seymour finally got the spine to ask her how she'd come by so much.

"I found it," was her answer with a shrug, "people were giving out a bunch of free stuff today for some special thing—didn't catch what it was—so I just added a little more to it. And the clothes, well, that's a funny story all by itself. The shopkeeper looked over all the measurements I wrote down in my book and said some really big guy came through there the other day. He was going to have all his stuff custom-made and then he just…well, no one heard from him again. He didn't charge me much at all for them. And this thing….he took one look at my clothes and just let me have them."

She was wearing a dark blue dress, almost black, decorated with silver flowers.

"You have an enormous amount of luck," Seymour commented, still disbelieving.

"Luck's got nothing to do with it," came the smug reply, "so…now what do we do? The concert isn't for another hour."

They locked the room, deciding to come back for their things later. They had just entered the inn's common room when Seymour froze in his tracks. Right there, not but five or six feet away, was Yuna and her Al-Bhed friend and that other short-haired looking friend. They were all chatting away animatedly. Today, Yuna had on a different outfit that was mostly blue. She looked up and Seymour's breath caught.

"Oh, look, Sweetness! It's that famous singer!" Melody said, playing the part of an excited wife strangely well. She dragged him over, which Seymour resisted as best as he could, but she was surprisingly strong for such a short, dumpy woman.

"See, Yunie? _Everybody's_ heard of you now," Rikku said, "they all love your music!"

She turned to look at Melody and Seymour.

"And she thinks she's not very good!" She stage-whispered. Melody grinned.

"Most people who can sing are like that—small world, though. I used to be in my father's choir until I got married."

She was still holding Seymour's arm and hugged it affectionately.

"Aren't they cute?" Rikku cooed, "So, what are your names?"

"I'm Melody and this is Se—Simon," she said, "we just got into town yesterday. Boy was that a long trip!"

"I'm with you there—those airships get boring after a while."

Melody's grip tightened a little and he felt her palm start to sweat.

"Uh, yeah…I forgot to bring a book to read. Plus I get a little airsick…glad we don't have to go on one for a while."

"What about you, Simon? How'd you convince her to get on the airship?"

Melody suddenly regretted that third cup of coffee and that sixth tart.

"Oh, uh…Simon can't speak. During that big war two years ago, he lost his voice when a fiend tried to rip his throat out."

"Ah, the perfect husband, then," Paine joked darkly.

Seymour would have glared at her, but he was trying to keep his eyes in shadow so they wouldn't see the color.

"He is," Melody said affectionately, "but that's not why. Traveling through dangerous areas when it's just the two of you…you learn who you can really count on that way."

The syrupy tone that her voice had taken on would have gagged Seymour if he hadn't noticed the moisture in Yuna's eyes. What was that all about? Had something happened to that little blonde brat?

"That's very true," Yuna said quietly, "well, I'm very happy for you both. Will you be at the concert?"

"You know it! I _love_ music!" Melody exclaimed, "I sort of miss the days where all I had to do was sing all day!"

"Keep an eye on the sphere," Rikku said, "you never know when we're going to need another one. Our last backup singer ran off with one of Leblanc's goons and we haven't heard from her since! She was a _pain_ to replace."

She glanced up at the clock.

"Oh! Is that really the time! Sorry to rush off, but we really should be going to get ready! Nice meeting you!"

The three girls sprinted out of the inn. Seymour let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"Must you _really_ turn me into a mute?!" he demanded.

"I'm sorry, I panicked! It's just that your voice is…well, it's very melodic," Melody sighed, "and I'd never forget a voice like that, so I'm assuming your friends there wouldn't either. I just didn't want everything to go to heck in a handbasket, okay?"

He didn't answer, instead staring at the plate that Yuna had been eating off of. Only a few crumbs remained, the fork laying across a crumpled napkin. It was very much like the relationship they'd had—here one second, gone the next. Damn that Tidus….

"Are you okay? That must've been kind of hard to—"

"Leave it," was the terse reply, so she left it. They went outside to find a place to sit before things got too crowded. He really didn't want to stay. He wanted to just keep moving, but Melody had already said they'd attend. She had asked for nothing, so he grudgingly gave in to this one thing for her. He reasoned that she would get sullen and might even refuse to stay with him if he tried her patience too much. Everyone had a limit after all. They found a nice patch of grass and Melody busily began to make flower chains. Before long, she had a flower crown, two flower bracelets, a flower necklace, and a flower belt. The bright yellow contrasted sharply with the dark blue of her hair and the dark blue of her dress. He had to admit that they did become her.

The concert opened and Yuna and the others did a series of very up-tempo songs meant to make everyone dance. Seymour _could_ dance, but not like that—he usually only took part in Summoner's dances. Melody didn't notice that he was standing as still and rigid as a rock—she was all over the place though she clearly lacked the skill. Where the problem began was when a slow song started. All around them, people started pairing off.

"What's the matter? Shy? If I had a wife that pretty, I'd dance with her, you know what I mean?" some guy hissed at him. Seymour wanted to turn around and send a bolt of lightning up his nose, but he could only clench his fists. Just how many people knew about the "adorable newlyweds" anyway? Melody seemed to be oblivious to the strange looks and was swaying in place, periodically doing a slow turn.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he whispered before taking both her hands and positioning them on his shoulders.

"This is even better," she commented.

The sight did not escape the people onstage either, who were pointing and grinning. He turned her in such a way that he could whisper something to her: "Do you regret this charade now?" But it appeared as though he had kissed her.

"Nope."

"_I_ get to pick the next one," he said firmly.

She shrugged.

"Fine with me."

After what seemed like an eternity of music, dances, and carefully feigned gestures, the concert was over. Melody followed him back to their room to pack. They had no sooner shouldered their bags when a chaos erupted outside.

"FIENDS!" someone yelled.

Sure enough, an enormous herd of them was swarming the town.

"We have to help!" Melody exclaimed.

Seymour sighed. The air was _full_ of drakes, bees, and a couple of things he didn't recognize. Machina were moving everywhere trying to target the fiends, but there were too many of them. He grabbed Melody and yanked her to the side just as a gold elemental sent a nasty bolt at her. She swiped at it with her sword, but it dodged. Seymour drenched it with a wave and they kept running. One of the drakes barreled past and knocked her on her butt. The sword clanged out of her hand and Seymour barely had time to turn around before he saw its gaping jaws open. He was sure that this would be the end of her, as he had no hope of reaching her in time. But there was a strange vibration in the air. Something akin to magic but not exactly the same scent filled his nostrils. He watched as time seemed to slow down. Her eyes began to glow. The whites, pupils, and irises were indistinct from each other, all turning a blazing green-gold. Her skin paled and began to glow and she forced the monster's jaws back with her bare hands. Then came what he could only describe as a ripple in the air.

Melody exploded.

It wasn't even so much that she really blew up—it was that she just expanded. There was a bright flash of light. What he saw hovering in the air wasn't the least bit human—it had six wings, shimmering armor, and a very intimidating expression. The sword clattered across the ground before flying back into her hand. She stabbed the drake and it died in a scream echoing through its Pyreflies. Seymour was so stunned that he didn't move from where he was. She was there one minute, then she was flying in a bright white streak across the road to clobber one of those enormous bees about to stick its stinger into a small child. The hot stench of spilled blood filled the air. With renewed vigor, the others began to fight as well. The six-winged Melody didn't stop until every last one of those creatures was gone. He lost sight of her when she landed. It wasn't until he felt the cool, mercifully refreshing breeze on his face that he realized that his hood had fallen back…


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: First off, I'd like to thank GronHatchat and Moogli for reviewing and keeping up with this story. I was beginning to think I had a dead one here…not a good feeling at all. You guys are awesome!

Also, I now have some artwork up for this story. You can find it here: ( art/Seymour-s-Rescue-Illustration-for-Second-Chances-446027495) and here( mysticaqueen . /art/The-Sphere-444815357) by copying the address, pasting in your browser, and removing the spaces since doesn't like links. If there's any moment in the story that you would like to see illustrated, please feel free to make requests, as I've been drawing poor Seymour a lot lately. Sorry about the poor quality of the pictures, by the way—I promise to replace them with better scans as SOON as I can. The first link is a sketch of Melody getting Seymour out of the Via Infinito and the second one is her holding a sphere up for him to examine.

Chapter 5

Even in the aftermath of the epic failure known as "Operation Mi'ihen", Seymour had _never_ seen so much pandemonium. Despite there being wounded to care for and dead to Send and bury, people and machina alike were pursuing him. Despite Melody's hard work in trying to keep him disguised, there was no mistaking his hair color, his eyes, or the blue veins on his cheeks. He had no choice but to flee—all around him were bullets and spells alike. Feeling an enormous sense of desperation he hadn't felt in a long, long time, Seymour fled blindly into the woods. They were hot on his heels. As much as he wanted to call for Melody, he didn't dare do so for fear of losing the tiny bit of ground he'd managed to gain. His "new" flesh resisted—despite having been in excellent shape when he'd been killed, his muscles were throbbing and beginning to cramp. His lungs burned like Hellfire and his stomach gave a warning bubble of acid. Only when he managed to lose them completely—as in he couldn't hear or smell them—did he drop to his knees and throw up. When the spell had passed, he took a shuddering breath in and willed himself to get to his feet. Shaky and pale, he drew his hood back up over his head and looked around for Melody. He didn't see her anywhere—surely as oddly colored as she was, she'd stick out in this green, green forest. He wondered exactly how far he'd sprinted—he couldn't hear any people and their scents were very, very faint. The grinding, whirring, clanking sound of the machina had faded as well.

Just as he was about to entertain the fact that she might have been killed, he saw something twitching in the grass. He picked it up and examined it. It was a white feather with an iridescent sheen that the wind had been blowing. He breathed a sigh of relief. She had to be close by to have shed this thing—the wind wasn't _that_ strong. It was a decently sized feather, too—it was at least a foot long. Clutching the feather by its quill in his palm, he willed his trembling, cramping legs to keep moving. It was the first time he'd entertained the possibility—the very _real_ possibility—that he could die without her.

Another feather appeared after he'd walked about ten feet. It was a relief to find this one too, as he'd been afraid he was going in circles. He strained his ear, listening for any sign at all that she was here. He heard a rustle nearby and hurried towards it. The pack was beginning to get heavy as the adrenaline and the coffee both wore off—what little had stayed in his stomach, anyway. He doubted he'd ever drink the stuff again.

When he finally found her, what he saw was disturbing. She was still in that eerily beautiful, yet very frightening form. Dead fiends, presumably some that had come after her once she'd flown off, lay all around her. The pack lay a few feet away. It was somewhat damaged but still usable. Melody was still hovering in the air. At first, he didn't understand why, but when he got closer, he saw that someone had impaled one of her wings with their sword. The attacker, thankfully, was nowhere to be found. She looked exhausted if such a thing was possible and it looked as if it took all of her energy to stay aloft. When she heard him, balls of white fire erupted from her palms. Seymour cast Nulblaze on himself just as a precaution (though he honestly didn't know what spell she was using) and revealed himself.

"It's only me, Melody," he said cautiously, "they're all gone for now."

She stared down at him with her green-ember eyes. He could sense waves of wariness and hostility coming from her. He found himself wondering if she could be reasoned with when she was like this—she'd become quite violent with those fiends and a couple of people had gotten hurt in the process because they were too close. She probably hadn't meant to do that—he was somehow _sure_ she hadn't. The image of her almost weeping when she realized she'd left him alone too long came to mind. He made sure to move slowly so as not to set her off. Her eyes flashed slightly more yellow than green and he hoped it wasn't some sort of warning.

"I know this hurts," he whispered to her, "but you have to let me pull it out or your wing will tear."

He felt ridiculous at the tone he was using—it was as though he was talking to a child instead of a potentially dangerous monster. She watched him wrap his long fingers around the blade's hilt. Bracing his feet against the tree's thick trunk, he yanked as hard as he could. The blade came loose with a metallic hiss and he tumbled backward. Pearly white blood sprayed from the wound and Melody dropped into the grass. An unearthly shriek emitted from her just before she changed back into her human form. Gasping and panting and clutching at a place that was no longer there, she could only lay in the grass and cry. After that initial terrible scream, however, her tears were silent other than the frantic hitching of her breath. Seymour was completely puzzled: if she no longer had wings, why was she crying? He got his answer when he looked down at the blade: there was a slight black mist coming off of it. It was enchanted with Darktouch.

Seymour didn't know what to do. He knew a spell called Esuna for removing various magic-based ailments and poison, but would it work? He knew he had to try or risk the crowd chasing after them coming back and getting her while she was weakened. He placed both hands on her arm and cast the spell. As the white magic worked its way through her, he felt her sobs becoming less intense. Tears still continued to stream down her face, but she didn't look as though she'd stop breathing. He repeated the spell over and over until she'd finally gone still. Just to be sure that she'd be all right, he also cast Cure. She was still shuddering as she struggled to regain her composure. Seymour opened his mouth to give her the same "being strong" speech as he had Yuna, but the words died in his throat. Instead, he placed one hand on the back of her head. For being such a tangled, frizzy mess, her hair was surprisingly soft. He saw the muscles in her throat constrict and heard her sniff, but her back wasn't shaking anymore. Slowly, awkwardly, he ran his hand over her hair the way his mother had done when he'd been upset by something as a child. The gesture worked wonders—he saw the tension leave her body entirely after a minute or two and her breath began to regain its steadiness. The salty smell of her tears began to fade. The cooling wind and the shade helped as well. Her breath actually slowed enough that he was afraid she'd fallen asleep, but she turned her head so that he could see part of one green eye.

"Thank you," she said quietly, her voice still roughened from the earlier tears.

He said nothing, but offered his hand to help her up. When they were both upright again and had their packs back on, they walked in silence in the direction she'd been going.

"I wish we could go back to the inn," she said quietly, "it was nice there."

"I know," he said bitterly, internally cursing his half-Guado genes. If only he hadn't had such a distinctive face, he could have been _anyone._ But now, it had probably gotten back to Yuna that he was back from the dead—AGAIN—and causing trouble in Spira—AGAIN. He didn't know if he was ever going to catch a break. And here was his guardian stumbling around because he hadn't been able to get rid of all the effects of the Darkness spell for her. He hated to push her so hard when it seemed like she was barely staying upright, but he simply couldn't risk anyone catching up to them. His own strength was giving out before long and by the time late afternoon got there, they were both desperate to just lie down and close their eyes. By the time they reached a familiar-looking river, Melody tripped over something and fell. Her voice thick with unshed tears, she struggled to try and get up, but her body wouldn't let her. Staying on her knees, she sighed at her scraped palms. Once again, Seymour hauled her to her feet and kept hold of one arm because she staggered.

"We're staying here tonight," he suggested, "this area looks fairly safe for now."

Her expression was one of immense gratitude. She scrubbed the dirt out of her palms and knees and drank deeply from one of the canteens while Seymour got the fire going. He offered her food, but she didn't want anything. Laying a few feet apart from each other, they both fell asleep straight off. Despite his best efforts to keep awake, Seymour simply couldn't do it. They had both been through far too much today. As he drifted off in the hazy late-afternoon heat, he dreamed of his parents for the first time in an eternity. He saw his mother and father standing side by side in the Farplane, united in death as they had never been in life. Their hands were joined, fingers laced together, and Seymour saw them both just floating there, watching him with impatient expressions as if to see what he would do. When he woke, he felt disoriented and troubled. It was already night-time—judging by the chill, the sun had gone down hours ago. He started to roll over and his body jerked with a start. Right next to him with maybe an inch or less to spare was Melody. He wondered how she'd gotten over here when she'd been so far away at first. Shaking off the strangeness of it, he nudged her awake.

"Huh?" she asked sleepily.

"Go back to sleep if you want," he told her, "but I thought you'd like to see this."

She slowly rolled onto her back and sat up. The effect was almost cartoonish—she saw the Pyreflies gathering in the Moonflow Lilies and her eyes widened. Still mid-yawn, her jaw snapped shut and she grinned.

"Ooh! _Pretty!_"

She had forgotten about the blanket and got her legs tangled up in it. Kicking it free, she stumble-ran towards the opalescent orbs and the flowers, splashing right into the water. Seymour chuckled when she let out a yelp at the coldness of it. Still shivering, she hiked her skirt up to her knees and tied it in a knot so that her clothes wouldn't get so wet. She let out a half-squeal half-laugh when the Pyreflies all scattered when she tried to catch them. It was like watching a small child at play.

_She acts as if this is all completely new to her,_ he thought, _as if she's never seen a Pyrefly before._

Giggling, she twisted this way and that, ran and leapt and splashed until her clothes were all soaked anyway. When she got too cold to continue, she hurried for the warmth of the fire.

"Have a nice bath?" he asked casually. Melody cracked up laughing.

"Good one," she said, shivering, "you're actually really funny when you aren't being all full of yourself."

It was hard to believe that the beautiful, cold, deadly creature was the same being as the child-woman. She rifled through their packs for a bite to eat, winced at the damaged one, then crammed bites of food in while she patched it up as best as she could. They didn't really talk much while they were eating or after. He noticed that Melody was now adding more of the fiends to her "catalogue".

"You need to learn some offensive spells," he told her.

She looked at him as if he'd half-lost his mind.

"I can barely do a shield," she reminded him.

"Not in that other form."

At the mention of her "other form", Melody squirmed uncomfortably.

"That's different."

"How is that different? I saw you destroy an entire army of fiends just by _looking_ in their direction," he pressed, "why do you not use such immense power? Your potential is wasted."

Melody put her chin in her hand.

"Seymour…I can't control that," she said quietly, clearly embarrassed, "I only shift into that form when I'm in serious trouble and I haven't got any sense when I'm there. I had to fight against attacking _you._ My senses don't distinguish between human darkness and demonic darkness in that state—or in this case, fiend darkness. And the trouble is that you have so much of it that you're in serious danger when I'm like that."

She hid her face in her hands for a moment.

"I was hoping it wouldn't happen," she lamented, "because no one's ever seen something that looks like that. I scared them—I could see it. It's not my job to scare people."

He thought about how much that Darktouch sword had hurt her. She must have felt _very_ threatened.

"Then you should learn black magic in this form," he suggested, "then you won't feel so threatened. We will be encountering more fiends with elemental aspects—you need to know how to find their weaknesses."

They were near water, so he led her out to the shore and showed her how to manipulate it. She could only make the water wave slightly at first, but even he hadn't managed that during his first try as a child. He showed her how to move her hands as though she was pushing and pulling. The waves grew a little stronger.

"When you get better at this," he told her, "you will be able to produce water out of thin air."

She smiled, imagining a cold drink in the midst of the desert.

"Now," he said, "you also must learn to shield from it."

He showed her the Nultide spell. The orb of blue light that circled him would draw the water towards it instead, leaving him completely dry no matter how much someone might try to drench him. Just to test it out, Melody retrieved a bowl and tried to dump some water on his head. It completely missed him no matter how hard she tried.

"Your turn," he said, grinning evilly. Of course, the poor girl ended up soaked all over again.

"Can we stop for now? I'm _freezing,_" Melody objected.

"The good news is that you can't possibly get any wetter," he told her, "again! This time, _push_ it away. Refuse to let it touch you."

He cast Water on her again. The only noticeable improvement was that she felt as if it were raining rather a full-blown waterfall. Sighing, she slumped in the grass, careful to step out of the mud puddle she'd been standing in.

"Absolutely hopeless," he muttered.

"Hey!" she protested.

"Well, you are!" he huffed, "You're the slowest person I've ever had to teach."

"I _am not!_ You try getting the hang of all this stuff in two weeks!" Melody argued.

"I had to," he told her, "I had no choice. It was learn or die."

"Why are you so tough on me?"

"Because a dead guardian is of no use to me."

He cast a Fire spell, being careful not to let the flames actually touch her. She screamed bloody murder only to find that the water that weighed her clothes down and plastered her hair to her neck and forehead were steaming dry. When he stopped, they were still a bit damp, but she wouldn't catch cold at least. He didn't care for the thought of sneezing every few minutes.

"I know what your problem is," Melody said smugly.

"Do you? By all means, enlighten me," he shot back.

"You're scared that something's going to happen to me, aren't you?"

"Absolutely terrified," he said sarcastically, "it keeps me awake at night, you know."

"That's it," Melody said accusingly, "or you wouldn't give me such a hard time. If you didn't care, you'd let one of those darn wolves eat me."

"I will if you don't shut up."

She was grinning, which made him tempted to throw one of the nearby rocks at her. She wouldn't be laughing then!

"I'm sure you will…that's why you came _looking_ for me earlier and pulled that sword out of my wing and healed me and sat with me while I was crying and—"

"As I said, you are no good to me dead."

There was something hard in his tone that made her lose her desire to goad him so much. Her expression turning more serious, she came to kneel at his side.

"You've lost a lot of people in places like this, haven't you?" she asked quietly.

"A few," he answered, "but they have all found peace in the Farplane. It does no good to concern myself with them now."

"Don't you miss them?"

He was getting annoyed.

"How can you miss something taken from you so long ago? Dwelling on it only prolongs the pain."

Ah, there it was. She could always hear a mental wall going up. Seymour Guado never grieved for anyone either because he had lost too many people or because he didn't let himself deal with it. Instead, he preferred to shove everything to the back of his mind and suppress it. She stopped pushing him and instead placed her hand on his. As she expected, he pulled away. Though he crouched close to the fire, she could see that he may as well have been made of ice. His very presence chilled her in the moment. He was beyond the simple comfort of a human touch.

_These things take time,_ she reminded herself, though she ached for him. She went back to her sketches until she felt tired enough to fall asleep again. When it was her turn to keep watch, no communication of any kind was exchanged at all beyond him shaking her shoulder to wake her up. She patted the grass where she'd been laying, still warm from her body, and sleepily trudged over to a nearby stump to sit. It wasn't as comfortable as the grass, but that worked to her advantage. While she kept watch, she foraged for food. They didn't have many of the pastries left, so she had to find other things. Remembering a few of the berries, fruits, mushrooms, and nuts that she'd seen in the discarded packs she'd found before, she searched carefully, making sure to keep part of her attention on her surroundings. The Pyreflies came in handy as impromptu flashlights, illuminating the landscape so that she could see a little better. Reaching into some of those memories, she drew on the wealth of ancient knowledge to help her avoid making a fatal mistake. It wasn't easy learning to live off the land, but people had been doing it for thousands of years, so she was sure it would all work out. Piling her finds on her stump, she had managed to find a handful of mushrooms, a small pile of berries, and a fruit tree that she managed to climb with great difficulty. It was easier to pick the fruit and let it fall to the ground than to try and carry it down herself. The things that she found vaguely resembled plums and they released a sticky-sweet juice when she bit into their thick skins. Feeling quite accomplished, she gathered them in her skirt and hauled them back to camp. After doing this repeatedly for a couple of hours, her back, knees, arms, everything ached something terrible, but they would be able to survive for a few more days. When she'd gathered all the ripe fruit off the tree, she boiled a bunch of water in a sauce pan and refilled their canteens with it. As the moon sank lower in the sky, she finally gave in to her exhaustion and roused Seymour.

"Someone's been busy," he muttered, seeing the new additions to their camp. She smiled proudly as she tucked in for the rest of the night.

_I know you haven't trusted many, but you can trust me to help you out,_ she thought as she heard him crunching one of the plum-things.

While Melody and Seymour had their quiet night next to the Moonflow River, Yuna, Rikku, and Paine were back onboard the airship. After the attack of the fiends, they didn't much care for the idea of staying in town. It was mostly Yuna's idea, but as she was pale and even more quiet than usual, they didn't question it. The flood of fiends had been very sudden, but something else entirely seemed to be bothering her.

"She'll tell us when she's ready," Paine had said in her dark voice as Rikku kept vigil outside Yuna's room that night, "she always does."

"You're right," Rikku sighed, "it's just that she's been through so much. It must be big if she feels like she can't tell us."

And something big it was. Yuna had turned on the shower full-blast and made the water as hot as she could stand it. Though she lingered there for at least an hour with the steaming water beating against her skin until it turned a bright red, she couldn't seem to get warm at all. It was as if ice had coated all of her insides and then spread to her very soul. Trembling with her arms clutched tightly in a hug to herself, she stood there with wide eyes and dripping hair as her heart continued to pound loudly and quickly. For the four-hundredth time that night, she tried to convince herself that she hadn't seen whom she thought she'd seen.

_It can't be…it just can't be…_

Though his hair and clothes were different, there was no mistaking those eyes, the color of the hair, the sheer size of him, or the face-veins in their tear-track patterns under his eyes. There was no mistaking that high, cold voice that had shouted to the strange iridescent creature that had been a happy woman adorned in flowers only seconds before. It was her worst nightmare brought back to life: Seymour Guado was back from the dead. _Again._ It was something she'd had nightmares about constantly for the last two years. Though she'd Sent him herself, she knew people could still come back from the Farplane because Lulu had said their attachments kept them from leaving Spira in peace. If Jyscal's convictions to reveal Seymour's actions had been strong enough to hold him there, then how much more were the half-breed son's? His hatred for Spira was so intense that any _number_ of Sendings might not keep him away for good!

She shivered violently, her stomach still churning. And she had been less than two feet away from him. She had been _right next to him_ within arm's reach. In fact, she was quite sure that she, Rikku, and Paine had been staying in the room right across from those two.

_Why didn't I know something wasn't right?_ She scolded herself.

_Because I wasn't looking for it. I never imagined this would happen._

She turned the shower off; the water had faded from its steaming intensity to a bland lukewarm that only made her feel colder. She toweled off as quickly as she could, then tugged on a very thick, fluffy robe made from Behemoth fur. Everyone would probably think she was crazy, as it was in the middle of summer, but it was the only thing that made her feel remotely safe. Pacing back and forth, she wondered if she should tell Rikku and Paine of her suspicions. She didn't want to worry them and what if it wasn't really Seymour after all?

Back and forth, back and forth. She barely slept at all that night, having nightmares of Seymour and that scary winged creature coming after her, of doing terrible things to Spira and even killing more people. She had barely slept at all and was feeling quite worn-down when the next morning came.

"Rough night?" Paine asked.

"Very," Yuna sighed, pouring some coffee. She didn't really like the stuff, but she needed to stay awake. She didn't want more nightmares.

"Oh, my goodness! Yunie, you look awful!" Rikku exclaimed, "What's wrong?"

Unable to bear the burden by herself anymore, she told them of her suspicions and the resulting nightmares. Paine had never gotten a good look at Seymour, so she had no way to really recognize him, but Rikku had helped Yuna battle him personally. Her spiral-shaped pupils dilated in horror as she listened to what Yuna had to say.

"This is terrible! I really, really hope it was just a long-lost brother or something," Rikku lamented.

"I don't think he had any siblings," Yuna sighed, "besides, wasn't _one_ enough?"

"So, what do you want us to do about it?" Paine asked. Anyone who didn't know her would say she sounded careless, but Yuna knew she'd only ask if she was offering her help.

Yuna gulped against the acid rising in her throat.

"If he's really back…we need to stop him. Seymour Guado isn't a safe person to keep around on Spira. I don't know what I'll do with him once I catch him, but there's always the hope that I can Send him again and that he'll be gone for good this time."

"Then that's what we'll do."

Yuna let out a sigh of relief. It was so good to know that her closest friends believed her and didn't think she was crazy. Though Paine had never witnessed the fights with Seymour in which he kept taking on awe-inspiring and terrible forms, she had heard all the stories and she clearly didn't want to risk people being hurt either. And Rikku…Rikku knew far too many people that Seymour had hurt to risk it as well. He had wiped out most of the Ronso, several of his fellow Guado, far too many humans to count, and probably other intelligent non-humans as well. It certainly wasn't the first night that Yuna had awoken screaming from nightmares.

"They'll have fled Djose by now," Yuna said, "the minute he realized he'd been seen, he ran. I don't know if that…thing…was still with him or not."

"He didn't actually hurt anyone besides the fiends—what's up with that?" Rikku wondered.

"He didn't want to draw attention to himself," Yuna guessed, "especially if he _knew_ I was there. I'm one of the few people he can't stand up to."

She gave a great sigh.

"I'll need to get another Summoner's staff. Mine's back in Besaid."

"Let's go get yours, then. We'll be there in no time with this ship! Besides, Wakka and Lulu will be happy to see us!"

While the trio of girls and their airship-mates were on their way to the Isle of Besaid, Melody and Seymour were trying to figure out their next move. Walking side by side in the hot sunshine, Melody wiped the sweat from her brow and asked, "Where are we going?"

"We're going to Guadosalam," Seymour said irritably, wondering why her memory seemed so short, "to my home. Though I _do_ hope my reception there is a little bit warmer."

"What do we do if it isn't?" Melody asked.

"We hope we can outrun whatever machina abominations they send after us," Seymour grumbled, "or we might be sent to the Farplane together."

He thought of his house once again, of the cool, pleasant space there, the comfortable trappings, and sweet fruit that he was so fond of. For the first time, he thought of Tromell. Tromell would, hopefully, be happy to see him even if he was hurt. Seymour realized he'd have a lot of explaining to do to the poor old father-like Guado who had tried to make up for the years of neglect. He had never once had anything but good things to say to Seymour to the point of embarrassment. The poor old man had probably suffered horribly since that awful day that he'd been killed in battle. And for the first time, he actually began to regret what he'd done. It was only a small pang, but he wished he had not brought this all on to the poor old man.

"I can't wait to see Guadosalam," Melody said warmly, "especially your house."

She looked at him hopefully, clearly wanting him to talk about it, but he didn't. So she retrieved a big stick and used it as a cane to help her get up the very steep hill they were climbing. There were a couple of times she tripped and had to use the stick to right herself again. They traveled up and down those hills for at least three days before they neared his home. Just as Seymour was gearing himself up for the sight of his kinsmen, his stomach felt as if it was dropping into his thighs.

Melody's wide-eyed gaze was just as shocked as he felt.

"Umm…Seymour? Where are they? I don't see any—"

"Quiet," he snapped, dragging her behind a particularly large tree root, "stay down and don't move or make any noise!"

Something was wrong. He could smell it. The cold, steely smell of machina flooded the place. The once earthy-wooden smell of his people, something akin to pine shavings, was replaced by the warm salty smell of humans. He closed his eyes and placed his hands over his ears and just concentrated on smell. With his other senses out of the way, his keen nose was even stronger. There was a trace of another smell: Ronso.

"Follow me," he whispered, "but stay close behind. We can't be seen. Something's very wrong here."

The smell of magic was also thin. There were people walking around in uniforms—some were pink, some were olive green. A sickeningly artificially sweet smell, clearly a woman's cheap perfume, tainted the air. As they got closer to the Maester's mansion, Seymour's ire began to rise. Humans, humans, humans. Nothing but humans and machines. Where had his own people gone?

"Seymour, wait!" Melody sprinted to catch up with him. He motioned for her to follow him and descended into a very-well-hidden trap door. Watching him weave in and out of the shadows impressed her—she wondered how much practice he'd had actually doing this. It wasn't long until they'd reached his old room. He let out a very not-nice string of Ancient Guado curses. Melody didn't know what they'd meant, but she could guess by his tone.

"Oh, what's this? You must have wanted to see me _very_ badly to get all the way up here," a voice purred. Melody and Seymour both whipped around in surprise to see a woman in a very revealing pink body suit.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: There will be an illustration for this chapter, too. It's called "Grief"—it goes with a scene later on in this chapter. Here's the link (remove the spaces) mysticaqueen. /art/Grief-446604694

Chapter 6

"What in the Via Infinito have you done to my house?!" Seymour raged, a ball of flame erupting from his palm.

"_Your_ house?" Leblanc inquired, "this house was empty when _I_ moved in. It was very sad…such a big, beautiful space laying empty for so long…of course, the Guado corpses had to be removed first…"

No longer caring if someone knew who he was, Seymour shook his head and his hood fell back.

"_Get. Out._" He growled menacingly.

Leblanc's face paled a little upon seeing him, but she recovered quickly. A naughty little smile played over her lips.

"Oh, my…can it be? _Maester Seymour…_I've always wondered, shall we say, _certain things_ about the Unsent…"

Melody stared at her incredulously. She didn't like the way Leblanc was looking at her friend—and yes, though he was still mean to her most of the time, Melody still thought of him as her friend. She stepped between Leblanc and Seymour, giving her a warning look.

"Oh! And who's _this_?" Leblanc asked, slightly disgusted.

"I'm his guardian," Melody said, "and he doesn't like being touched."

Seymour bit back a laugh.

"I'm sure that depends on who's doing the touching," Leblanc retorted.

"Enough," Seymour sighed, scooting Melody to the side as though she were an annoying child or pet, "I want my home back. _Now._ And I want to know where the rest of my people are."

Leblanc chuckled.

"Well…that depends. The dead ones are already buried, burned, whatever. I'm sure plenty of them are the fiends we've gunned down recently. As for the live ones…well…they're probably hiding in their precious woods. The Ronso came looking for you and when they didn't find you, they took out their yowling kitty rage on the rest of the Guado. You didn't exactly win any points when you killed so many of them on Mount Gagazet."

Seymour thought he was going to throw up. His expression was troubled and Leblanc stretched out across what used to be his bed, making sure to pose very suggestively.

"You poor, poor man," she sighed in fake sympathy, "this must come as a complete shock to you."

To say it was a shock was an understatement. He felt as if he'd had the wind knocked out of him. He couldn't say anything, couldn't think. His heart was thundering. He turned without a word and started to stride out of the room.

"Where are you going?!" Leblanc demanded.

Seymour didn't answer. Leblanc pushed some sort of button on the wall and they were instantly surrounded by a bunch of the people in jumpsuits.

"We can find our own way out," he huffed.

"And lose such interesting company? Never," Leblanc said sinisterly. The click of guns being cocked split the silence in a jagged staccato. Melody clung to Seymour's arms, her breath coming in short, frightened gasps.

"Please," she begged, "just let us out—we were going to leave anyway! We don't mean any trouble!"

"But _I _do!"

Seymour felt it again, that strange vibration that had come before. He glanced over at Melody who was doubled over and looking pained. She gave him a helpless, pleading look just before she erupted into her other form. The "goons" began firing all at once and Melody threw her arms around Seymour, using her wings to protect them. The feathers had turned diamond-hard and all the bullets ricocheted off. She seized him and burst through the door with him, eyes blazing hotly.

"Go! That way!" he yelled, pointing towards the front room. She beat her wings against the still indoor air and hurtled down the hallway at an alarming speed. More gunfire pelted after them, but only one bullet grazed his arm. The last thing he noted before they literally exploded through the door was that the fruit laid out on the table 2 years before was _still there._

_Ah…the magical fruit that never spoils…too bad I'll never get to taste it again…_he thought glumly before his thoughts turned back to survival.

"Go left!" he shouted. Melody did so. She was letting off strange pulses of energy that knocked everyone back. She probably was only just managing to hang on to reason because she was actually carrying him this time. It wasn't long, however, before her strength began to fail her and she was forced to stop. Her wings gave out, disappearing with the sound of shattering glass, and they both landed in water. Seymour emerged gasping for breath while still holding onto his pack while Melody dog-paddled for shore. She had turned back into herself and was now spitting out water.

"What do we do now?" she choked out.

Seymour joined her just at the edge of the lake, shrugged out of his pack, and raked his bangs out of his face.

"I don't know," he admitted quietly.

She could hear the despair mixed with fury. He'd hinged all his hopes on reuniting with the Guado—even if they probably sought revenge—and now that hope was gone. Someone had moved into his house, someone of obvious influence and power. Melody felt sick thinking of that woman. She had no shortage of darkness within her either. It had been all that Melody could do to escape without unleashing her deadly powers.

"Seymour? Are you all right?" she asked. He didn't answer, only slammed his fist into the surface of the water. He was absolutely quivering all over. The veins in his face had darkened considerably and she saw the darkness inside growing. His breath came in shallow gasps and it seemed that he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. The surface of the pond they'd landed in crackled as it iced over and thunder crackled overhead.

"Seymour? Can you just…"

He gave her a look so dark that she didn't dare finish the sentence. He was glad she was smart enough to know that any variation of "calm down" would just send him into a bigger rage. Her shoulders slumped and she left him alone. He took his fury out on some fiends that just happened to wander by and Melody left him to it. She watched, stunned, as he poured his wrath into the monsters. He got quite scraped up, but nothing serious and the physical pain only spurred him on harder. He poured massive amounts of magic into them. When they were all gone, he stood with shoulders slumped, watching their Pyreflies escape. She moved cautiously towards him and didn't resist when he shoved her away very hard. She landed on her butt and cracked her head against a tree. He heard the air being knocked out of her lungs, smelled the metallic tang of her blood. And somehow that made him even angrier.

Then, the salty smell came.

_Anything but that…_

Tears.

Melody tenderly touched the back of her head and looked at the sticky traces of blood on her fingers. Her lip was trembling and her eyes were shining with moisture. She didn't make any noise at all, but she blinked and two very big fat drops rolled down her cheek. More lightning split the skies and he glanced up to see the storm clouds there. He couldn't tell if this was natural or if it was caused by his out of control magic. Either way, they needed to find shelter soon. He walked over to Melody and was going to offer her his hand to help her up, more for speed's sake than for desire to actually help her, but she cowered away from him.

_Ptttt…._

The first raindrop fell, then another. Soon, it was coming down so thickly that they were both drenched in a matter of seconds. Seymour turned away from Melody and leaned against another tree a few feet away for support. He suddenly felt horribly drained and sick to his stomach. Reality began to set in that this was not home anymore. He didn't have a place in the world where he belonged. And now, he'd made the only person who still even remotely liked him afraid. A tremor raced through his body and he felt like a deflating balloon as the air whooshed out of his lungs. The first tears he had shed since childhood began to flow burning hot down his cheeks. One right after the other, they were washed away by the chilling rain. His head ached terribly, but he didn't bother to stem the flow. It didn't matter about being strong—no one was watching anyway.

But then, there was that presence. As usual, when Seymour opened his eyes, he didn't see anything in his immediate surroundings. He blinked away the blurriness caused by his silent tears and looked around. Nothing. But he felt the distinct touch of a hand on his back. He jerked, startled, but the presence was gentle. He felt another touch across his forehead the way someone would check a child for fever. His ragged breath calmed just the slightest bit. For once, he didn't question it. It was nice just to not feel so alone. The presence was there in front of him for a moment—he could actually see a sort of shimmer in the air. The scent of something paranormal was there as well. Then he felt a tug on his robes and glanced up. Melody—she was still sitting where she had fallen with weary eyes and an expression of pain.

_Go help her,_ the presence seemed to urge him. And for once, he obeyed it. Melody was sitting slumped over, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms hugging them. He cast Cure on her and the smell of fresh blood faded. Kneeling next to her so he could be heard above the storm, he said "I'm sorry." His lips were only a centimeter or so away from her ear. One of her wet curls actually grazed his face as she turned her head to look at him. Her cheeks were red and splotchy and her eyes were puffy, but the ghost of a smile was in them.

"Come on," he said, urging her out of the mud.

She clung to his arm again, tightening her hold every time there was thunder. This time, he didn't try to pry her loose. Despite his annoyance at his movement being restricted, he felt like he owed her this one for hurting her. She _had_, after all, gone through a lot just to make sure he didn't get blasted to pieces. Just to make her feel safer, he cast NulShock on both of them. The sight of the yellow orb circling her seemed to distract her long enough for him to urge her forward. He couldn't keep walking with her hugging his arm for dear life, however.

"You're going to have to let go," he told her, "you keep throwing me off balance when you do that. It's nothing personal—but the ground is very slick here."

She released his arm and bit her lip, shrinking into his shadow as much as she could. After she'd accidentally stepped on his robes two or three times, he decided that he would have to try something else.

_This is getting truly ridiculous…_he thought. Taking her hand in his, he hoped _that_ would at least be enough for her. And it was. The first thing he noticed was how icy her fingers had gotten—he was cold, too, but the material of his robes was at least enough to insulate him a little. She was shivering violently and it was making it hard for her to walk very fast. His hand was enormous compared to hers and all but swallowed hers up—she couldn't wrap her fingers all the way around, but she didn't have to. He had a good enough grip on her that he could keep her moving. There were a few times that actually came in handy—she slipped frequently and it kept her from falling in the mud. The tremors continued through her body, but he doubted they were due so much to fear now as they were to just being cold. She didn't complain, however, and they continued like that until they finally found a cave to rest in. He told her to sit down and managed to get the fire going on his own—thank goodness for Fira. If he didn't have magic, they'd have _stayed_ wet and miserable.

"Take that dress off," he ordered, "here, wrap up in this."

The blanket he held out was still damp, but it was much drier than her soaked dress. She didn't wait for him to turn around before she started to yank the drenched garment down and he had to move quickly to avoid awkwardness. Did this girl have _no_ sense of modesty on either side?!

He heard the wet gown splat against the stone floor of the cave and the rustle of the blanket.

"Are you covered up now?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered. He turned around, seeing her huddled in the worn blanket. He could see nothing except part of one shoulder. He picked the dress up and laid it over one of the rocks. He was going to dry it with a fire spell, but his reserve of magic was too low. They'd have to make do the way they were. Seeing that he wanted to get out of his wet clothes as well, she finally took a hint buried her face in the crook of her elbow.

The blast of cold air hit him like a cannon and every muscle in his body wanted to seize up and not move, but he willed himself to keep going. He spread the robes out across the floor and smoothed them as flat as he could so that they would dry all the way. Then, he knotted the other blanket around his waist like a kilt. She heard him coming closer and risked a glance. It was safe now.

"It's a pity your first time through here was such a letdown," he heard himself saying, "I had hoped to give you a better introduction to my birthplace…Tromell would have loved you. He'd have fussed over you even more than me because you were the one who brought me home."

"Who's Tromell?" Melody asked.

"There are many answers to that question," he told her, holding his hands over the fire to thaw them out, "a butler. A friend. A sort of substitute for my own father. He was never far from me and was one of my closest companions."

He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering the courage to say what he was thinking: "But I don't know if I'll see him again now…I can only hope that he was one of the few who escaped the Ronso's wrath."

Scooting closer to the flames as well, Melody asked, "Is it true?"

He gulped, his throat feeling drier than it should have been. He could have played dumb and asked what she meant, but there was no point in prolonging the inevitable.

"It's true," he confirmed reluctantly, "everything that _that_ woman said about me was true…unfortunately."

"So you did kill off a bunch of people? Why?"

He dearly wished he had a good answer to give her, but he found one lacking. He watched the orange flames dance and crackle and wished he didn't feel as though the silence was suffocating. The discomfort he felt at having to tell her what happened was muffling every sound: the pouring rain outside, the thunder, the fire, even the breath flowing in and out of his lungs.

"I wasn't after them," he said finally, "I wanted to catch up to Lady Yuna's party and separate them. I had no intention of killing her—I just wanted to take her away with me. Everyone else got in the way because they were so keen on defending her. The Ronso were especially relentless. They all fought me, trying to give the group a chance to escape, but I tore through them as easily as wet paper."

He bowed his head, squeezing the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache.

"I should have known they would retaliate—I almost drove them to extinction. They are a proud race and do not take such things lightly. I didn't think about how it would affect the others. I didn't think it would go this far. Of course they would cry for my blood—it is only fitting—but why the others? They were only acting under my orders."

"Why did you want Yuna so bad? Did you love her?" Melody asked.

"I was attracted to her, yes. What man wouldn't be? She was beautiful and far stronger than I'd initially thought. She had a very real chance of defeating Sin. But that wasn't why I did it."

Melody waited patiently for him to continue. The veins on his face had darkened to almost black and his cheeks were flushed brightly. He felt weary, but there was no use in stopping now. She would find out everything anyway if this all continued—it was better she hear it from him. So there, in the relative safety of the cave and the darkness, he told her everything in clipped, formal sentences. She had noticed that every time he felt ill at ease, his speech would become stiff and almost aristocratic sounding. His position had called for that so many times that it was a habit he'd gotten into when trying to negotiate his way out of some really rough situation. She listened to him without interruption for a long time, only asking the occasional question. Though she looked concerned and ultimately sad, she didn't seem angry or outraged with him. After what seemed like an eternity and there was no more to tell, Seymour took a long drink of water. His voice was wearing out.

"So that's where all that darkness comes from," Melody remarked, "it's a lot to have on your conscience."

He slumped against a stalagmite feeling more bone-weary than he had in a long time.

"Yes, it is," he admitted, "and now the world has found out just what kind of man I really am. An entire race is paying for my actions. I'm surprised they didn't all kill me on sight."

Melody inched closer to him.

"So what will you do to fix it?" she asked.

He stared at her incredulously.

"There is no 'fixing it'," he said bitterly, "you heard what she said. The Ronso are slaughtering them—we'll be lucky if there are _any_ Guado left to come after me. And they will when they hear of this—you won't have enough power in all the cosmos to put me back together once they catch up with me."

Melody put her hand on his shoulder. She felt him stiffen at her touch, but he didn't push her away.

"Well, we can try, anyway," she said gently, "you'd be a hero again."

"I could care less," he responded darkly, "I brought it all on myself anyway. Just promise me you won't let them rip you to shreds as well—I deserve it and you don't."

"I won't let them," she said quietly, "and neither will Father."

"I hope he's listening," Seymour muttered, "I'd rather be put out of my misery right now than have both Guado and Ronso stabbing me together."

"He already knows," Melody told him, "or He wouldn't have sent me."

For a moment, there was a stunned silence.

"He knows and he _still_ sent you? After all the people I've killed? Wasn't he afraid I would hurt you, too?" Seymour asked incredulously.

"No," she responded, "because He knew you wouldn't. Not really."

"But _why_? The least he could do is save someone worth saving," Seymour said, his gaze dropping to the floor, "like that…what was his name? Tidus? That noisy little whelp would have been most people's first pick."

"You're missing the point, Seymour. He _did_ save someone that He thought was worth saving," Melody said, "He chose you. If He didn't think you were somehow worth it, He'd have let you languish in the dark forever."

Somehow, this made him feel all the more guilty—more guilty than he'd ever felt in his entire life.

"I don't…understand…" Seymour said weakly.

"Most people don't," Melody responded, "but they usually do in time."

She still hadn't stopped shivering even though he had. Concerned, he placed his hand on her forehead. It was extraordinarily hot, but her hands were still freezing.

"It's all right…I'm just tired," she said quietly, "…I'm sure I'll be better in the morning. That rain was just really cold…"

They both doubted there would be any fiends wandering around in the rain tonight, so they both skipped dinner and went straight to sleep. Neither of them really felt like eating and the food would be cold anyway. The hard floor of the cave was not at all fun to sleep on without any padding, but they both made the best of it. Melody had cocooned herself into the blanket so tightly that he couldn't even see her face—her head was covered up. She was curled up in a ball, he noticed. Since she usually either did that or slept on her side, he didn't think anything of it at first. He woke before she did, which wasn't such an unusual occurrence, but he'd been awake at least two hours and she still hadn't moved. Frowning, he tried to tug the blanket back, but he met some resistance. She yanked it back so violently that he heard a seam tear.

"Melody, stop it!" he scolded, wondering what her problem was. Why was she acting like the very air out here was poisonous? He tried again, and this time he pinned her arm down before she could catch the corner of the blanket again. Even in the very dim light, he could see that her cheeks were blood-red and her eyes were squeezed shut. The tremors had never stopped and were now worse. His hands were cold, true, but she pulled away from him as if he'd hurt her just by touching her face. She was burning up.

Seymour sighed. Now what? There were a million different scenarios in his head that he'd entertained and worked out some sort of solution for, but so far he had nothing for the set of events that had actually occurred. He certainly hadn't counted on her getting sick. He tried casting various healing spells on her, but not a single one of them seemed to touch the heat searing through her veins. He wondered what manner of illness this was and began to feel a little nervous. He managed to talk her into drinking a couple of different potions, but they didn't really work either. She wouldn't eat anything and kept complaining that it hurt to swallow. He didn't doubt it.

_How strange that the entire situation has reversed…_

He realized that the same situation that they'd previously been in was now unfolding: they were out in the middle of nowhere with very little to help them, they were both trying to keep sheltered from monsters that threatened their lives, and one of them was now incapacitated and afflicted with fever. But now, it was up to him to get her through this. He sincerely hoped that no one would happen across this cave or they were done for. The first thing he had to do was get Melody's dress back on her so that she'd at least have some resistance from the cold.

_After we're done, there will be no secrets between us whatsoever,_ he thought darkly. The only woman he'd ever seen even partially unclothed before was his mother and that was just because he'd walked in on her changing once. After that, he'd been more careful not to sneak up on her. He reminded himself that this wasn't supposed to be a big deal, as Melody wasn't able to even move let alone dress herself. She was shaking too hard. He had a very disturbing mental picture of her rattling to pieces and just laying in glass-like shards on the floor of the cave. He retrieved the dress and walked over to her. She was still laying in that same spot and in the same position.

"Melody, I have to get this on you. Can you please sit up?"

Of course, she either didn't hear him or was just refusing to acknowledge him. He had no choice but to force her to sit, then they had a tug-of-war with the blanket. Her temperature was so high by now that she seemed beyond all rational thought and started crying. She fought him, of course, and he was afraid at the end that he'd actually hurt her by trying to force her arms through the sleeves.

_I wonder if I was this much of a trial when I was young,_ he wondered, a mixture of pitying and annoyance by the time it was over. He smoothed her skirt down over her short, chubby legs and she crawled away from him, wrapping the blanket around her while giving him the most pathetic angry look he'd ever seen.

"Glare all you want," he said crisply, "I'm getting used to that expression."

They were getting low on food, so he tried to ration out what they had to last the longest. There was no telling how long they'd be stuck here and how long it would be before she was able to travel again. Seymour wanted to scream, punch something, zap something with a Thundaga spell, or worse: all of the above at the same time. But he didn't. Used to putting up a calm and indifferent front, he did the best he could to assemble a meal and try to talk Melody into eating. She refused, of course, and actually started crying again.

_Doesn't she ever dry out?!_

"Fine! Lay over there and cry until you turn to dust! I'm _finished_ trying to help you!" he snapped furiously. She obliged by shrinking into the far corner of the cave and refused to even look at him for the rest of the day. He realized it was just the frustration talking, but he didn't want to admit how truly worried he was. He'd never seen something he couldn't cure before. It made him feel helpless and he despised that with a passion. He tried not to make it obvious that he was continuously glancing over there into that accursed corner, but it was still happening. The quiet and the fact that he couldn't really leave her in this state allowed him entirely too much time to think.

_If she really isn't human…at least not in the sense of being born that way…she may not even understand what's going on…she knows how to treat fevers, but she may not have the experience of having one,_ he thought, _it must be terrifying if you don't grow up with it happening once in a while._

He'd eventually just started staring into space, letting the fire get low and not really paying attention to anything in particular. The sensation of pressure on his thigh and the sudden warmth coming through his robes brought him back to reality. A familiar mass of blue-black curls was taking up residence on his leg.

"So…forgiven me, have you?"

She didn't say anything and she was facing away from him, so he couldn't tell by her expression what she was feeling now. He was just glad she wasn't throwing a fit anymore and placed his hand on her head. Despite her very messed up mental state, he was glad for the company.

After a while, he had to rouse her from her fever-induced sleep so that he could stretch. His leg was going numb and his butt was sore from having sat there for so long. She didn't object and he stuffed his own crumpled-up blanket under her head so that she'd have something soft to lie on. With a few second thoughts, he left the cave to take care of a few things. They were low on both food and water and she'd probably get even sicker without that. He also wanted to make sure that there were no unwelcome guests lurking about. He took her sword with him, doubting that she was strong enough to use it. About ten feet from the mouth of the cave, something very interesting happened.

One of those strange crystal creatures jumped out at him. Out of reflex, Seymour swung the sword, but it flashed brilliantly and lengthened. He realized that he was now holding a staff—it was still white with the blue gems in the handle, but it had the shape of his old Summoner's staff. Grinning wickedly, he used it to draw more magical energy from the air and thoroughly thrashed the fiend. His friends must have heard the death scream because the woods around him came alive instantly. Seymour couldn't have been more thrilled—though it was an inconvenience, he had been itching for a fight since that awful day he'd heard about his kinsmen being slaughtered. The air vibrated with magical energy as he fought and fought and fought. After the whole thing was over, he let out a breathless chuckle. He didn't know about Melody, but _he_ was certainly feeling better. Stripping the fiends of their belongings (and in some cases, their meat), he hurried back to the cave and left everything there. Then, he solved the water issue by filling their canteens at a nearby spring. Rather than bother with drinking out of one himself, he just thrust his whole face in. It did a good job of cooling him off and slaking his thirst at the same time. Hoping he could coax Melody to take a drink, he used Blizzard to periodically chill the canteens to keep the water cold on the way back.

For his first attempt at cooking, the meal wasn't _too_ bad. The meat was a little charred from his impatient Fira spells, but at least they wouldn't get food poisoning from it. He persuaded Melody to take a few bites on the promise that he'd cause a snowstorm in the cave if she didn't do it. Then, he cleared everything up and reclined back in his favorite spot feeling more accomplished than he could ever remember. It actually hit him that he was trying very hard to preserve a life instead of ending it. How easy it would have been to kill her in this state…he hated that she was suffering so much. But he'd bought her at least another day now.

"Seymour?" she called weakly.

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Later on, she would be sure she imagined it or hallucinated or even dreamed, but she could swear she saw him truly smile for a split second.

It was cold that night—unseasonably cold for summer. It was cold enough that he built up the fire as big as he could and positioned their packs so that there might be somewhat of a wind break. Melody, of course, was miserable and huddled near the back of the cave. He stayed awake for a long time to keep the fire going, as the wind was really bad. Despite his intentions to stay awake, however, he was out before he knew it. When he woke, he felt something warm pressed up against his back. Puzzled, he turned his head to see Melody laying there behind him. Her arms were curled around his pack, apparently in desperate want for _something_ to hold, but he and the fire were the only things here that she could draw any warmth from. She could only get so close to the fire, but he didn't think he was any safer than the flames for her. Still, though, the heat from her back eased the bitter cold somewhat and he stayed where he was. At least she wasn't trying to cuddle with him—he wouldn't have been able to tolerate that no matter how sick she was. Seymour was simply not an affectionate man.

The morning dawned gently blue and the wind was only a slight breeze in the warm, humid air. Seymour realized that the pressure of Melody's back was no longer there. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and looked around. When he didn't see her, he actually felt a little nervous.

"Melody?"

No answer. He realized that her blanket had been draped over him. Frowning, he let both slide to the floor and got up. Sniffing the air, he followed her scent like a wolf, chasing it to the shore of a lake he hadn't realized was there. It ended with the water. Just as he was beginning to wonder if she'd drowned, he saw her head bobbing amongst a clump of water lilies. In fact, she was wearing one on her head like a hat.

"What are you _doing_?" he demanded. Melody glanced up from the flowers she was playing in.

"Having a bath," she answered, "I felt kind of yucky with all the sweating I've been doing. I thought I'd be done by the time you were up, though…sorry…"

Her eyes were clear, he noticed, and her cheeks were only tinged with a little bit of pink instead of flaming red. Then he noticed something else: the water was pristinely clear. She dog-paddled over to him and he took a very intense interest in a crystalline flower that bloomed on the lake's shore. There was a series of noisy splashes as she got out and a bunch of water trickling as she wrung out her messy, tangled hair.

"What?" she asked, puzzled as to why he was suddenly so quiet. Then, she remembered.

"Oh yeah…humans and the whole 'being naked is weird' thing…sorry! I forgot about that," she said, going to retrieve her undergarments and dress. A few rustles of fabric later, she said "You can look now."

"Don't your people wear clothes?" he wondered out loud.

Melody giggled.

"Well…yes and no," she said, "when we appear to humans, we've usually got robes on or sometimes we even just have regular clothes. But we don't have bodies when we're at Home, so we really don't have a reason to keep them around. We're pure energy, so what you see right now isn't actually what I look like."

"Good to know," he mumbled, "let's get out of here. We've pressed our luck by staying this long."

"All right, you killjoy."

He thought about replying with a quip of how much a killjoy her illness had been, but he thought better of it. Instead, he asked "Have you eaten?"

"Yeah, actually. I had no idea you could cook."

"There are a lot of things you don't know."

"So what else can you do besides cook, zap things, and k-…take care of people when they're sick?"

"Apparently, I'm still finding out."

They had crossed into the Macalania Woods for certain now. Melody saw a blue butterfly and squealed loudly. Seymour gave her a Look and she clamped both her hands over her mouth.

"Sorry…" she whispered.

"You should be," he said accusingly, "the fiends you've dealt with so far are _nothing_ compared to these."

"There are fiends here? But it's so _pretty!_"

He gave a dry chuckle.

"Don't let that fool you. And whatever you do, stay away from those damn butterflies."

"Why?"

"Let's just say they're far more trouble than they're worth."

"Okay."

But it turned out that his guardian had a special weakness for the delicately winged creatures. More than once, he'd hear her plowing off the path into the foliage to chase them and only his stern expression would bring her guiltily sprinting back to his side.

"You _really_ ought to stop that," he warned, "it's only a matter of time before—"

But it was too late. While the sapphire-colored butterflies were probably the greatest treasure to the angel-turned-human, the brilliant ruby one was just too much for her. She gasped and watched it as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world to her. Entranced, her hands stretched towards it. Before Seymour could do anything at all to intervene, it was too late. The vibration tore through the air. It was a frequency too high for humans to hear, or so he thought, but Melody tilted her head curiously.

"It's singing," she said in wonderment.

"And that's why we should really go—"

But it was too late. He heard it before he saw it though it happened so fast that it was only a second or two of a delay. The beast came charging through the brush and Melody let out an ear-splitting scream. Her sword was out in a flash—he noticed it had changed back when she'd touched it earlier—and she cast a Shell spell. He didn't have time to wonder how she'd learned it. The chimera reared back one of its ugly heads and exhaled a jet of flame at them. Melody swiped at it repeatedly, but she was trying to avoid all four heads at once. Seymour pounded it with spell after spell while trying to keep an eye on her in case it got her. And it did. Just as the beast finally fell and caused the ground to shudder, he saw Melody stagger. She had a faint green shimmer about her, a clear indicator of poison affliction. Thankfully, this was something he could deal with. A second later, the poison was gone and he had healed the deep fang-marks in her shoulder.

"Thanks for that," she said gratefully.

"Next time, slice _that_ head off first," he advised, "even if the other three look scarier to you. It will save you a lot of trouble."

"Noted," she said, still rubbing the spot even though the injury was gone, "so…do all the red butterflies hang out with big, scary things?"

"Yes, they do," Seymour said, "they're blood-colored for a reason. Just remember that."

Melody shook her head.

"Goodness…what kind of place is this? I can't even catch a _butterfly_ without getting clobbered? How do you guys get _anything_ done? How do you _sleep_ at night?"

Not five minutes after that, the same exact thing happened except for Melody chasing the butterfly—it had just happened to cross her path at the wrong time. After having to fight three chimeras in a row, he was treated to the very amusing sight of Melody seeing a butterfly, getting a look of utmost horror on her face, then literally running away and screaming bloody murder. He laughed so hard that he had to take a minute to recompose himself. She gave him a Look which made him laugh even harder. It was the first time he'd laughed like that in a long, long time. Years, probably. And despite the fact that it was at _her_ expense, it was music to her ears.

When the day was finally drawing to a close, Seymour froze in the middle of the path they were walking.

"What is it?" Melody asked, wondering if he sensed danger. She drew her sword just as a figure emerged from the shadows. He saw her pupils dilate, saw her muscles twitch, and knew she was going to strike.

"Wait!"

He stopped the blade, though he got a very big gash in his arm. Melody gasped in horror at the gush of blood that sprayed out of the severed artery, at the clang as the blade struck bone.

"You should have let her, sir."

Seymour grunted in pain, but the wound shone with light as he willed his flesh to heal itself. Melody contributed her own light and watched as the blood-flow stopped and the wound knit itself together again. Within seconds, all that was left was a faint pink scar and a tear in the sleeve of his robe. More embarrassed than she'd ever been (at least that she could remember), she offered her hand to the stranger that she'd nearly killed on accident.

"Melody," Seymour said, his voice thick from his constricted throat, "meet Tromell."

"Dear Yevon…" the old man's voice squeaked out, "…Maester Seymour!"

He moved to throw his arms around the enormous half-Guado, but fainted before he could quite make contact. Seymour caught him before he could hit the ground. Melody was about to walk in the direction of where he had come from, but Seymour stopped her.

"No use in going in there until he wakes up," he lamented, "if they see me with Tromell like this…well…you know what they'll think."

Melody nodded and put her healing abilities to work once again.

"Just watch for butterflies," she said weakly, breaking the tension only slightly.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Poor Tromell. Even after Melody managed to revive him, he still for some reason thought he was dreaming. His gaze kept moving back and forth between the Guado hybrid and the short dark-haired human that wasn't really a human at all.

"I'm as real as you are," Seymour assured him, "see?"

He took Tromell's clawed finger and placed it against the side of his neck. Tromell jumped in surprise when he felt the strong, steady pulse point along the vein.

"You…you're not an _Unsent?_ But…but how?! The last time I touched you, you were so very _icy_…your flesh was stiff like a corpse's and you had no heartbeat? How can this be?"

He had paled considerably and Melody made him sit down on a fallen log.

"That," Seymour sighed heavily, "is a very long story."

Tromell's eyes were glistening with tears.

"Oh, please do tell me! I don't really know how much time I've got left here—any of us, for that matter…the forest is dying, Maester Seymour…"

"Just 'Seymour'," Seymour corrected him gently, "I have lost my right to such formal titles."

"My apologies, M—Seymour." He dragged in a great, wheezing breath that sounded like someone letting the air out of a balloon.

"Tell me about the forest, please," Seymour told him.

"Well…judging by the amount of scars on you, I would hazard a guess that you found out the hard way that we were driven from our home and the gates of the Farplane. The Ronso are not a very forgiving bunch, you see…so the few of us that could escape managed to come here. But the magic of the forest is fading without the Fayth and we will fade as well if we don't do something soon."

Seymour noticed that the poor old man was already looking rather weak. The light in his brilliant emerald-colored eyes had dulled. But he was alive for now—it was more than Seymour could have ever hoped for. As long as Tromell breathed, he might be able to make amends in some small way for dragging him into his dark plans.

"Seymour…I…" Tromell's voice caught, "…I wouldn't go any further past this point…the others…they might try to…"

He gulped, his throat constricting.

"I know," Seymour said quietly, "and it's probably no more than I'd deserve, but hiding myself from the world hasn't been very successful so far."

"What I'm trying to tell you is please be careful," the old Guado choked out, "I've already lost you so _many_ times…I don't think I could bear it again…"

"Even with the things that I've done?" Seymour asked warily.

"Yes. Even with the things that you've done," Tromell whispered, "though I do wish I understood _why…_I've asked myself that question every night since that terrible day in Macalania Temple when I saw you laying there all spread out in the floor. I had hoped once you became an Unsent that you would at least stop your mad dream and rest...join your mother in the Farplane…but it was not so…"

He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his face. Then he blew his nose noisily. Melody had never seen or heard such heartbreak in a man's voice before.

"I have missed you terribly," Tromell continued, a little more composed now, "but I can't help but wonder what trouble you're planning this time."

Judging by Seymour's expression, Melody guessed that a good lightning bolt to the groin would probably have hurt a thousand times less.

"I do not know why I was chosen to live again," Seymour told him, his own throat sounding constricted now, "and I do not know the entity that supposedly brought me back to life. But I do know that no one comes back from death with a heartbeat…not without a reason."

Tromell's eyes were glittering, but he smiled.

"Let us hope, then…that this means you've changed," he sighed, "forever."

Night had fallen by now and the forest was alive with a faint teal light. It bothered Seymour to see that Macalania Woods did not have its usual luster. In fact, it was very dim.

"If we cannot risk being seen, is there a place we may take shelter out of the way? It looks as though it's going to storm again."

"There is a place not far from here," Tromell said, "that is vacant, but we must take care not to be seen by the others. There are so few of us left that even blood lost in self-defense is too precious…"

He led them in a wide semi-circle around the Guado camp. Thankfully, things were winding down there for the day and most of the children and a few adults were already going to bed. Melody tried not to constantly trip over the knotted roots, but there scarcely seemed to be a clear space for her foot to go. She stumbled along behind Seymour and Tromell, wishing she had their agility. Both were so used to forest environments and root-mazes that they had no trouble navigating them. Branches snagged at her skirt and she fell more than once. She wished she could will her transformation and just _fly._ Her short, stumpy little legs couldn't keep up with the lithe strides of the two Guado men in front of her. After she'd fallen for the fourth or fifth time, she was relieved to see that they'd reached the place Tromell had told them about.

"Don't come out during the daytime," Tromell told them, "I will bring you supplies. You can stay for as long as you want."

Never had a run-down little shack in the middle of nowhere seemed so inviting. There was no running water, no source of light. But it was cool and dry and would keep any rain out even if they had to put a few pots in the floor.

"Thank you, Tromell," Seymour said gratefully, "I don't know if I'll ever be able to repay you for this…"

Melody decided that they probably needed a minute and busied herself with exploring the place. She turned around just in time to see Seymour give Tromell a hug.

_Awww…._

Warmth filled her stomach and heart both. It was the same feeling as one gets when they drink hot tea. It was the first time she'd ever seen him openly showing some form of affection. Tromell looked about as surprised as she felt, but he managed a watery smile.

"I shall return shortly," he said quietly.

He closed the door behind him and Melody and Seymour were left alone in the dark. He quickly remedied that problem by picking up a stubby candle and lighting the wick between his finger and thumb with a simple fire spell. The gloom was instantly dispelled, if only slightly. They would have to use light sparingly around here.

The little shack had probably been a cozy little cabin in its time. There were a few pieces of dusty, neglected furniture. There were a few dishes that were mostly good that had maybe a few chips and scuffs but were otherwise usable. When they went upstairs, Melody couldn't help but laugh a little bit: there was a heart-shaped bed, but that was the _only_ one.

"Where do you suppose they got the sheets for it?" she asked, causing him to chuckle a little. Neither one of them was really willing to say what they were thinking: this could make for a _very_ awkward night.

"Something about this place feels oddly familiar," he found himself saying, forgetting about the bed for a moment, "see this pattern here on the walls? I could swear I have seen it before."

He traced the intricate carving with his long fingers, following the design of swirls over and over.

"Didn't you say that your dad was the Maester of this place?" Melody asked, remembering that he'd told her about a Maester being a priest of some sort.

"Yes. But what has that got to do with it?"

"Maybe he brought you here at some point."

Seymour made a face.

"Why? He never took me anywhere. He was ashamed of me."

Melody tugged the drawer open to the end table. It was stuck and she nearly went flying backwards when she managed to dislodge it.

"I found something," she alerted him, "it's a little jewelry box."

Seymour stared at the trinket in the girl's delicate-looking hands. It felt odd to take such a pretty and fragile item into his own strong, reckless ones. There on the lid was his first clue: it was a cameo of his mother, exactly like the one that her Aeon Anima wore around her neck. He blew the layer of dust away and the box began to sparkle despite the harsh light. Then, he flipped the lid up with his thumb. A little Summoner figurine appeared, her staff raised and her body stretched onto its tiptoes. All around her were pearls on springs meant to represent Pyreflies.

"It's a music box," Melody said in wonderment, "and here's the key!"

She wound it up and the Summoner began to dance, the Pyreflies floating around her. Seymour was puzzled. Why on earth would anyone want to make a toy out of something so morbid? It seemed…wrong…somehow. Wrong in a way he couldn't explain. Perhaps that twinge was because the Summoner bore a striking resemblance to Yuna. She twirled and twirled and twirled until her song finally slowed and stopped. Melody picked up the roll of parchment in the box below her little ledge that she danced on and unrolled it.

"Awww…." She gushed, "It's a letter from your dad…to your mom…see? He even drew a little sketch there."

Seymour let her hold the box while he skimmed through the letter. As tempted as he was to rip it to shreds, he didn't do so. Instead, he pressed his fingertips to his head to try and avoid the headache that came with some sort of internal conflict.

"How can _this_ be the same man? All he can talk about is how much he misses her and how he wishes things were different and he _sent_ us there," he snapped, "and everyone hates me for Sending him. If they _really_ knew what kind of a man Jyscal was, they'd have thanked me."

Melody took the letter quickly and stuffed it back in the box.

"People can do really stupid things," she told him, "maybe he meant to bring you back but didn't have the courage to face you."

"I was a _child_, Melody. I was no more threatening then than…well, you are when you're sick. Sometimes you when you're well. No offense, of course. What the Hell did he have to be afraid of?"

Melody's fingers traced the dark red surface of the bed.

"Well, if it helps any," she said, "I've helped a lot of people. I've traveled with them, talked with them, laughed with them, cried with them. There were some I'm pretty sure I married at one point—I don't remember much of those times—but I can tell you right now that the overwhelming majority of them had _terrible_ relationships with their parents. In a lot of those cases, the parents wanted to fix it but they didn't know how. And a lot of them stopped trying before they even started because they thought it was no good. From what I've heard so far, everybody liked Jyscal and they all thought he was the greatest thing since movie spheres, right? There was literally no one he couldn't impress—except you."

"I wonder why," Seymour said, his tone quite snarky.

"Everyone else was relying on the whole 'Good Ole Boy' mentality, the fact that they knew him for many years and that they'd never seen him do something wrong or bad or even morally questionable. When it did finally happen, they were willing to give him the shadow of a doubt just because they'd spent all that time in a relationship with him. There was only one person he could _ever_ lose face with and that was you."

"He never had it to begin with."

"Yes, and he knew that, I think," she said, watching him go to the window and stare out, "and he was so used to having people like him that the idea of failing was nightmarish. For the first time, there was a very real possibility that he could fail, so he didn't try."

"It sounds as though you're siding with him," Seymour said in disgust.

"No, I'm not," Melody said, coming to join him, "I would never agree with that. I would always push people to try even though it's hard because, well, if they fail, they've at least tried. They might have to try a dozen times or a hundred to make it work, but they should always try. If the other person can't accept them, then that's their problem. But I'm trying to help you see _why._ Even if you don't agree with it (and I hope no one ever will), you'll understand it and maybe it'll give you a bit more peace."

"As long as I live—or don't live—it matters not these days—I will _never_ have peace, Melody. Never."

In the dim teal-colored light of the woods and the contrasting orange light from the candle, Seymour had aged considerably. He was tired from fighting and not sleeping enough and traveling. Most of all, he was tired from the burdens in his heart. The faint scars that marred his face were more visible in this light and his pale blue-violet hair was limp instead of pointing out in all directions the way it should have been. He'd lost more weight and he wanted to find a safe place and sleep the rest of his life away.

"Yes, you will," she assured him, "I will see to it. Even if it's only for a little while."

"Well, at least one person in my miserable existence has tried."

Not caring about the bed or its stupid shape, Seymour lay down on it and stretched out. It felt so good to lie on something soft even if it had a damp, musty, disused smell. The mattress sank just a little under Melody's weight, but she may as well have had her own gravity well. They were sort of sinking in towards each other.

"Oh, that's clever," she observed, "the way that this bed is shaped, you'd never notice it. But feel the edges—they're a little higher. This bed is designed to push the two occupants together."

"Absolutely wonderful," came the sarcastic reply, "I would love to know more about the man I hated and the woman he murdered."

"Point taken," Melody said, "so…what now?"

"What do you mean 'what now'? Tromell is coming back. No one else knows we're here. You pray to whatever deity this Father of yours is that it _stays_ that way."

He rolled over on his side and caused the bed to creak noisily.

"Charming," he sighed, "it's screaming at me. Oh, the nightmares to come…"

Melody cracked up laughing.

"Don't worry," she said, still laughing, "I'll keep you safe."

The candle went out.

"I hope you can see in the dark, then," he sighed.

"I'll be all right."

"Wake me if something happens or when Tromell returns."

"Okay."

He closed his eyes and drifted off immediately. Melody smiled warmly and spread a blanket over him before going downstairs. She was afraid that if she stayed up here that she'd keep Seymour awake. After all he'd done to help her when she was sick, she felt that she owed him that much. Taking the music box with her, she longed for another sound besides silence and fighting. She closed the bedroom door and went downstairs into the living room. Twisting the key up again, she sighed in contentedness as the music began to play.

_I feel as though I've heard this song before…like it was a very long time ago. In another time…another place…_

Faint trace images came to the surface. A wreath of flowers on her head. A white dress. A warm touch and family and friends gathered together watching her dance with a man whose name and face she could no longer remember. A tongue that was unfamiliar and foreign came to mind in much the same way as when you hear a song on the radio you like and are later trying to look it up on the Internet.

" _Kaze ga yoseta kotoba ni_

_Oyoida kokoro_

_Kumo ga hakobu ashita ni_

_Hazun da koe_

_Tsuki ga yureru kagami ni_

_Furueta kokoro_

_Hoshi ga nagare koboreta_

_Yawarakai namida….."_

She sang it over and over, quietly to herself as she pulled the memory back to the surface. At first, her mouth stumbled, unfamiliar now with the language. Then, she slowly began to adjust.

" _Suteki da ne _

_Futari te o tori aruketa nara _

_Ikitai yo _

_Kimi no machi ie ude no naka _

_Sono mune _

_Karada azuke _

_Yoi ni magire _

_Yumemiru _

_Kaze wa tomari kotoba wa _

_Yasashii maboroshi _

_Kumo wa yabure ashita wa _

_Tooku no koe _

_Tsuki ga nijimu kagami o _

_Nagareta kokoro _

_Hoshi ga yurete koboreta _

_Kakusenai namida _

_Suteki da ne _

_Futari te o tori aruketa nara _

_Ikitai yo _

_Kimi no machi ie ude no naka _

_Sono kao _

_Sotto furete _

_Asa ni tokeru _

_Yumemiru…"_

She had lost count of how many times she'd sung the song and re-wound the music box. When she saw something move in the darkness, she let out a gasp and nearly jumped out of her skin.

"I didn't realize you were up again," Melody said, glad he couldn't see her blush, "did I wake you up?"

"Yes and no. The music had some rather interesting effect on my dreams."

"Sorry….what happened?"

"I heard your singing. The rest is inconsequential."

_In other words, you don't want to talk about that. Okay…_

"I must have gotten carried away. Sorry…" she sighed.

"Forgive me if this sounds callous, but I'm a little surprised that—"

"That the singing voice you just heard came out of me? That it's weird that I look like a plain little dumpy woman with crazy hair and I can make that sound? Trust me, you wouldn't be the last," Melody laughed, flopping onto a couch a little too hard. It responded by one leg snapping and tipping her into the floor.

"Ow….fudge…." she lamented, "today just must be my day to hold the Idiot's Ball."

She brushed off her skirt.

"Where did you learn that song? It sounds vaguely like the Hymn of the Fayth, but I do not recognize that language."

"Japanese," Melody informed him, "of Earth…I must have lived somewhere in that region when I was alive last. Or was it China? Oh…I can't remember anymore. The only thing I know about it is that it played at our wedding—my wedding."

Seymour was surprised.

"_You_ were married?"

"Yes, I was," Melody said, "at least twice that I know of. But that was a very long time ago."

There was that odd feeling again, a feeling that there was something there that he simply couldn't grasp.

"You can't have been—you're younger than I am!" he objected.

"I'm far older than you think," she said quietly, "I don't remember my true age, but I know of at least six-thousand birthdays I've celebrated. Maybe more. Some of them were earthly ones."

"And your husbands? What happened to them?"

"They died a long time ago. Mortals have such short lives compared to our kind—if you make it longer than sixty or seventy years, that's a miracle on its own. But they were both great men and they both were very Godly men for many years before He took them Home for good. Father loves them both dearly and I know they're enjoying themselves there."

Seymour stared through the darkness. She could make out his silhouette in the scant light, but not his face. He could see slightly better than she could and his pale violet eyes pierced the darkness. His nostrils flared a bit, trying to smell for sweat and adrenaline. The Guado nose he'd been blessed with could even tell him if a person's blood vessels dilated in the instance of a facial flush or the constriction in the case of a paling. But she did neither. He tilted his ear toward her, listening to her breath and her heartbeat. Nothing changed.

"And you never get any older?"

"Yes, I do," Melody said, "I age just like any mortal in this body and I even die. I've died a few times that I know of because the forces I was up against were too strong to be beaten by mortals. By the time I got to that point, though, my body was wearing out. I'm not really meant to stay here for long. Sometimes Father sends me back to live with people for a while. Sometimes not."

He frowned. He couldn't remember ever meeting another Unsent, let alone one who'd been "killed" multiple times.

"Then you must know, then," he said quietly, "what it's like to some extent…"

"Yes," she answered, "and how terrifying that is sometimes. The hardest thing in the world is to trust that Father will bring me back. There's this darkness that gets all disorienting at first and then you're never quite sure what's going to be on the other side even if you tell yourself over and over again that you are."

"Do you miss them?" he asked quietly after a moment.

"Kind of," she answered, "the truth is that I don't remember much about them. Every time I get sent somewhere into the mortal plane, I lose my memory of my last life. I get only flashes, like a song lyric or a feeling…I remember how they made me feel, though. How good it was to be in their presence. How much I enjoyed their company…"

She fell quiet after a moment.

"Children?" Seymour asked, wondering why he asked and yet genuinely curious.

"Oh, yes," she said fondly, "I was never quite sure what I was doing, but I developed a taste for motherhood. Of course, it was something I had to re-acquire every time."

"_That_ would explain a few things," he said, remembering her obsession with his health.

"Yeah…it would…"

"Did you ever sing that song to them?"

"All the time. I think."

He still couldn't figure out why in the world the song seemed so familiar. The part that he didn't tell her was that he could swear his mother had sung the same exact song to him when he was a child and that he dreamed about her.

Tromell was used to appearing calm. It was something he did on auto-pilot most days, something that he could wear as well as his robes. He was careful not to let anyone see his hands shake, nor did he speak in a tremulous voice. He quietly retrieved the food a little bit at a time, smuggling it into a traveling bag. A piece of fruit here and there, a couple of bottles of wine, and so on. The hard part was the waiting. Tromell _hated_ waiting. Since Seymour had died, the Guado had unofficially made him their leader and he had all these other things to tend to. The daylight refused to die for ages. Then came an even bigger shock: Yuna, Rikku, and Paine had shown up. Tromell was very good at faking as if he hadn't seen anything or heard anything. He told them of the Ronso causing the Guado to leave Guadosalam because they'd been run out and mostly massacred. But Seymour never actually came up other than his traitorous past. By the time they made it to a place to stay, he was a nervous wreck on the inside. When he was absolutely sure that no one was paying attention or following him, he slipped into the forest to take the two of them their food. He knocked briefly, looked around, and then went inside.

"Lord Seymour?" he whispered, "Are you in there?"

"Here," Seymour said from somewhere to his left, making him jump, "we thought it best to wait in the shadows."

"Wise of you," Tromell said, breathing a sigh of relief, "…Lord Seymour, I don't wish to bring you more hardship than you have already faced, but I must ask you to leave after tonight. Lady Yuna and her friends have just arrived here…I am afraid if you linger, they will catch you."

He only dared to light one candle, but it chased away enough of the darkness for them to at least see each other. Seymour sighed.

"So, they know then?"

"Perhaps…perhaps not…but I have a suspicion that they do. Lady Yuna is carrying her Summoner's Staff once more."

Seymour gulped. It wasn't that he had to be afraid of the staff, but the machina weapons and guns could inflict fatal wounds. If Yuna found out he wasn't dead, she might want to remedy that situation. Yuna herself could be merciful, but she had vowed to fight him whenever necessary. And her friends…Seymour was sure that they wouldn't back down, either.

"I smelled adrenaline. I smelled fatigue as well," Tromell said, "Lady Yuna does not look well. I think she has been worried about something."

"Then she must know," Seymour confirmed, "_I_ was one of the few that got that reaction from her."

Tromell put the bag on the scuffed kitchen table and slid wearily into a chair.

"Lord Seymour…forgive me, but I demand to know what's going on. First I find out that your father, Lord Jyscal, is dead by _your _hands…then I find out that _you_ attacked Lady Yuna's party. Then the Ronso, almost wiping them out completely, and then…."

He put his head in his hands.

"…I cannot fathom why you would so such things! It is as though I'm in a nightmare that I cannot wake up from!"

Seymour didn't know what to say or do. Tromell's voice had broken at some point and he was trembling. He looked angry, but he was sad as well. Staring a hole in his adopted son with his big, tearful green eyes, Seymour felt something inside himself crack around the edges.

"Tromell…I truly am sorry for putting you through this. While I cannot say I regret my father's death, I do regret bringing this down on your head. You don't deserve to suffer for me."

"But WHY?!" Tromell demanded forcefully.

"My father? You know why. As for the others…"

His throat had gone dry. Pouring a glass of the wine, he tried to restore some moisture to his throat though it proved in vain.

"I thought I could end their suffering. I thought I could end all suffering here on Spira. That was, of course, after I saw Lady Yuna on the beach with her eyes filled with tears as she danced and danced and danced….I thought to myself as I Sent some of them as well that I might never have to watch another tear fall, another soul resisting being tugged from its body against its will simply so that it wouldn't turn."

Tromell was staring at him disbelief.

"Lord Seymour…you would truly attempt to end suffering and pain by causing _more_ of it? Perhaps it is the ignorance of an old man, but I fail to understand your logic."

Seymour's gut gave a little twist that couldn't have been due solely to the alcohol. Looking at Tromell and Melody sitting there side by side, he realized how much alike they really were. They even both had green eyes and crazy hair, for Spira's sake! Not that he was one to talk, of course. But it was their natures that branded them lost cousins. Their natures were so kindred…Seymour wondered really if they were simply an extension of the same being for a moment.

"Yeah…that's what I've been trying to figure out," Melody admitted. Tromell jerked as if he'd forgotten she was there by his elbow.

"And you…what relation to Lord Seymour are you? I noticed that you were defending him earlier…quite intently, I might add…"

"I'm just a traveling companion for the time being," Melody said, "I know some white magic and I'm trying to learn some black as well…it's harder than it sounds. Seymour's been teaching me, though. In exchange, I try to keep the fiends off of him though he usually ends up killing them faster. I think I'm just the big, meaty distraction."

Tromell smiled, though his eyes were a little sad.

"I see…and have you any family in this area? Anywhere, for that matter?"

"No," Melody said, "I have Father, but He turns up when He feels like it."

Seymour busied himself with inspecting the rest of the bag's contents, feeling an awkward moment coming on.

"So the two of you are…?"

"Friends. Sort of. We've gotten each other out of a few scrapes here and there. A lot actually…" Melody said, "I'm sort of hopeless at fighting, but I can patch a wound in a heartbeat."

"Ah. I _had_ hoped upon first meeting you that—"

Seymour braced himself. _Oh, Yevon…here it comes!_

"—that in you he might have found the happiness that he never found with Lady Yuna."

_Way to go, Tromell…you Blitzed that one out of the water, didn't you?_

Melody looked at Tromell, then at Seymour who was intently looking away, then back at Tromell before she burst out laughing.

"That's a good one! I can see it now…the whole world after us and we're leaving a trail of flower petals and lace on the way to some damp smelly cave we picked out for a honeymooning spot," she giggled, her cheeks very red from mirth, "ah…our kids would grow up running before they could even crawl. And then there's the whole 'Don't pet the kitties' thing we'd have to teach them."

She finally regained her composure and wiped some tears away.

"Oh, man…I haven't laughed that hard since…I can't really remember," Melody sighed, taking a piece of fruit, "it felt really good."

Tromell had gotten a lot of amusement out of it as well, but most of it was Seymour's affronted expression.

"The girl does have a point," he whispered, which caused Seymour to elbow him in the gut.

Melody couldn't slow down. She was hungrier than she'd ever been—the fever had caused her to lose a little bit of weight and she was probably a bit on the dehydrated side to boot. She had a second glass of wine.

"I would slow down on that if I were you," Seymour warned her.

"I'm thirsty, though…" she objected. After that third glass, her vision got a little hazy and a strange warmth had built up in her stomach. Her cheeks were quite flushed and her nose was red as a cherry.

"Ooh…this stuff makes me feel funny…"

She tried to get up from her chair, fell, got up, fell again, then staggered towards the stairs.

"I don' feel so good….I'm gonna lay down…"

Seymour heard her hit the bed with a thud followed by a peal of giggles. Tromell snickered into his sleeve a little.

"Apparently, my companion is a very cheap drunk," Seymour said, listening to Melody's laughter.

"And a very happy person," Tromell said, "my mother and father always used to say that a drunk man's—or woman's—mouth is a sober man's thoughts. It's a good thing you aren't full of bubbles tonight, Lord Seymour. You tend to get rather on the brooding side."

"I will be if you bring up my state of marital affairs—or lack thereof," Seymour said darkly, "why did you ask her such a question? Do you _want_ her getting ideas?"

"No, no, of course not! She'd never survive that."

Seymour gave Tromell the Look—the one where he was smiling a little with his fingers touching his chin. Tromell was familiar enough with this expression that he knew it meant trouble. All he had to do was smile that chilling smile.

_Touched a nerve, did I? You've had an enormous ego for far too long, my boy…_Tromell thought, meeting his gaze squarely. Despite the fact that he only meant it to be a joke, the double-meaning was heavy in the air.

"If your opinion of me is so poor, why warn me?" he asked quietly, "Why not let Lady Yuna come after me?"

Tromell's clawed finger traced the wood's pattern for a moment.

"Why indeed? I have gone back and forth on that several times between her arrival and now. I have no proof at all that I'm not making a terrible mistake…"

Tromell sighed and got up from the table. Placing his hands on Seymour's shoulders, he gazed into his adopted son's eyes. His gaze was vulnerable and pleading.

"Please, Seymour….don't make me regret this…I've only got one more chance left in me."

With that, he left.

Seymour was left sitting alone at the table, head in his hand. Suddenly, the two empty chairs didn't appeal to him anymore and he blew the candle out. Left in the dark, he was free to indulge himself in both the food and drink and his own rapidly darkening thoughts. He took his time eating since he'd hungered for things that tasted like home from the moment he'd woken up. After he was finally full, he poured one glass of wine after another until he began to feel heavy and drowsy. He was tempted to just rest his head on his elbow, but he didn't want to wake up stiff and sore on top of everything else. Seymour reluctantly scraped his chair back from the table and went upstairs. His face-veins were dark, his cheeks warm, and his mind felt pleasantly numbed.

"Melody? Still awake?"

"Mmmm…." She mumbled unintelligibly.

"Move. You're taking up all the room."

"Mmmm…"

He was pretty sure she'd said "no" because she didn't move. Scowling, Seymour grabbed her by the ankles and dragged her over. Satisfied, he lay down next to her. Initially, they weren't even touching. Seymour had only just closed his eyes when he felt Melody roll towards him.

"Melody? What are you doing?" he asked irritably. She had lain her head on his chest and was now wrapping her arm around him.

"It's cold in here," she mumbled.

"I don't care. Get back on your side."

She did, though she let out the loudest sigh he'd ever heard. He closed his eyes and fell asleep into a series of bizarre dreams that reminded him why he didn't drink often. When he first woke up, he felt very disoriented. The soft teal light had grown brighter, indicating that the sun was rising. Despite knowing they had to get out and do it quickly, he felt oddly relaxed. The heavy, comfortable feeling that one gets when they have to get up early, it's a cold morning, and they don't want to get up was tempting him sorely to stay. Then, Seymour's awareness increased a little bit more and he realized something.

_Great…_

How on earth had he gotten in this position? He realized that he and Melody were both laying on their sides—the same sides, actually. While there was nothing wrong with that, what bothered him was the fact that they were _spooning._ Her head was laying on one of his arms and the other one was wrapped around her protectively. Her head was tucked under his chin. His heart rate began to increase a bit and he was trying to figure out how to scoot her back over without waking her up when she stirred.

"Morning…" she mumbled sleepily, "….what time is it?"

"Just after sunrise," he said, trying to keep his voice calm, "we need to get going."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed.

"We have to," Seymour said regretfully, "Lady Yuna is looking for us."

"Aww…." She sighed sadly. Then, she opened her eyes. He couldn't see them, but he knew exactly when she did because her body tensed.

"Oh…um…must've been colder than I thought…"

Slowly, gingerly, as if removing herself from a dangerous fiend's grasp, she slid away from Seymour. With equal care, he let go of her. The two of them didn't look at each other as they straightened up their clothes and put their shoes on. Melody had no brush, so she had to run her fingers through her frizzy bed-hair several times. Still yawning, she followed him out the door, mumbling something about how she wished she had some coffee. Seymour was very good at acting indifferent and she was good at acting like she was more concerned about the journey ahead.

_I must have been dreaming of Yuna or something,_ he thought, _I must have…_

"Well…there's the road," Melody said, gazing down it, "…shall we see where it takes us?"

A slight nod of assent from him.

"All right then," she said quietly.

From where he was hidden, Tromell smiled as their two shadows retreated into the distance.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

After having successfully avoided Yuna and her friends in the Macalania Woods, Seymour was completely at a loss as to where to go and what to do now. It was something he was doing his best to try and hide from Melody, though he suspected she already knew. After a day or two away from the settlement, he heard the massive airship take off. They would probably be back before long, but this would hopefully give them a few days' peace.

"Where are we going now?" Melody asked, tugging her skirt free from yet another branch, "you've been awfully quiet lately—more than usual, I mean. It's a different kind of quiet. You're not sick, are you?"

"Just come on."

She gave a resigned sigh, deciding that he was dead set on not telling her. All she could do was follow his back. The woods were getting thicker and thicker and he was having to exert more effort to move the tree branches out of the way. Melody watched the intentness of his movements, the sheer determination. He wasn't wandering around—this was something specific. There was somewhere he wanted to get to for a reason. After several minutes of almost running to keep up with him, he had stopped.

"What?" she asked, appearing at his elbow, "Is there something ahead of us?"

He stepped out of the way and let her through. As predicted, her eyes grew huge and round as she admired the spring.

"Oh! It's _beautiful_!"

"At one time, you wanted to know how to create spheres," Seymour said, "they are created by infusing water with Pyreflies. But this is where to get the water from. It has a particular affinity for them."

Melody dipped her hands in it. Almost immediately, the water appeared to respond to her touch and she was left holding a ball of it as it contracted in her palms. She tossed it up and down for a few moments, laughing like a child.

_I dearly wish I could be so easily amused…_he thought, watching her.

"I keep expecting it to fall apart, but it never does," Melody pointed out.

"And it never will unless it is returned to the spring," he told her. She gazed at the blank sphere in her hand for a long time, noticing that it felt more solid now than liquid.

"Press it against your temple," he told her, "and remember something in all its detail. Force it into the sphere and you'll have made your own."

She did so, her eyes shutting in concentration. She wanted to show him Earth. She wanted to show him Father if she could. Seymour watched as the sphere began to glow brightly in her hands. It shone brilliantly with swirling colors and he got the impression that more than one memory was being put in. He left her to it, debating on whether or not he wanted to create his own sphere. He found his own imagination woefully lacking—there was nothing good he could show her. Even so, he created one though it was left blank for the time being. Placing it carefully inside the pack, he wanted until she was finished. Her face had reddened with the concentration as if the memories had been physical things that she'd had to push.

"Whooh…I never realized I still had so _many_ memories," she said, "like I said, I don't remember much from my own life, but you'll see a lot of Earth stuff in general."

She started to hand it to him, but he said, "I prefer to view it when we're going to be uninterrupted…preferably in a closed area. The last thing I want is a pack of fiends sneaking up on us. Or worse…"

"Okay."

The sphere she held in her hand seemed almost alive. The colors were whirling more brightly now and it almost seemed to be moving. She stuck it in a side pouch of the bag and they started to leave when Seymour heard a wet squishing sound.

"What's that noise?" Melody asked, for the woods had gone very quiet.

"I see that _it's_ still here," Seymour replied, his voice barely above a whisper, "stay close and don't let it touch you."

"Don't let what—HOLY FUDGECAKES, WHAT IS THAT?!"

An enormous globular form was coming towards them. It looked vaguely like a flan, but it didn't have any of the facial features. Despite its formless shape, a great deal of negative presence was coming from it. While Melody had been putting her memories into the sphere, Seymour had been watching for it. The creature was entirely too smart for a fiend—waiting until its victims had gotten what they wanted and were about to leave was a good way to lure them into a sense of false security. Despite Melody's Protect spell, they were almost frozen solid by the blast of icy air.

"Hit it with fire!" Seymour yelled as the creature loomed over them. He hurled several fireballs into the creature's underbelly. Melody was trying, but her flame spells were still very weak. She tried to get out of the way of it, but he saw her disappearing under the gelatinous skin of the creature.

Melody was no stranger to being killed, but being suffocated was still terrifying. The creature's jelly-like exterior oozed into her mouth, her nose, and stayed there. Simultaneously, it crushed the breath out of her lungs. Just as she felt like she was going to pass out for sure, it lost interest in her and went after Seymour. Gasping and coughing, she had blue goo dripping from her nose and mouth for several seconds.

Seymour felt the signature vibration that always happened, but this time, he welcomed it.

"Change! Change!" he yelled just as he disappeared underneath the creature. Melody's eyes began to glow. Digging both fingers into it, she hauled it backwards and Seymour emerged coughing gel out of his lungs. While hacking at it with her sword didn't do very much, she distracted it. It sent a tsunami after her, so Seymour struck it with several bolts of lightning in quick succession. Every time it cast a spell now, Melody's wings would wrap around her body like a protective shell and block out the magic somewhat. It took several more spells to get rid of the creature, but it dispelled after a while. Seymour breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against a nearby tree for support. Melody landed next to him. Still in her seraphim form, she began to heal his wounds one by one.

"The creature you just got the misfortune of meeting is known as Spherimorph," he said through gritted teeth, having to endure the sting of being touched before it could go away, "it guards this spring, though no one really knows why. There is a rumor that in life, it was a Guado who couldn't tolerate humans being around it for fear that they would somehow contaminate the spring…"

His explanation trailed off into a gasp of pain as she moved to treat a particularly large burn on his leg. It shone white and the wound was as good as erased from history. Melody's seraphim form melted away and she was left sweating and shaking.

"And the fact that people do still keep coming and always have to clobber him probably confirms what he thought all along," Melody said, flopping into the grass, "…I know we gotta get out of here, but I'm wiped…"

"Here," he said, handing her one of the potions, "if we were anywhere else, I'd suggest you rest, but I don't want to risk it coming back either."

He helped her up and they hurried away from the spring. As hard as chimeras were, she was glad that there was only one Spherimorph. The idea of something killing her simply by smothering her was worse than the idea of being stabbed. She gulped the potion along the way and felt the strength return to her somewhat. They followed the road they had been taking originally. It led past the Macalania Temple and to the Calm Lands, but Seymour told her to wait in the woods.

"There is something I want to check," he said, drawing up his hood.

When he was gone for more than twenty minutes, Melody began to pace and worry. She wished she could have gone with him, but it was clear that he wanted to do whatever it was by himself. When he returned, he seemed empty handed.

"Well?" she asked.

"I thought I had a spare staff left here," he sighed, "but it's gone now. I wouldn't be surprised if someone destroyed it."

"You seem to be doing pretty good with magic," Melody said, "and you've got a pretty good right hook, too."

Seymour's old smile, the cocky one, was back. Before his first real death, the one that had landed him in the Via Infinito, he had received them regularly from Tromell and the others. He had taken so much for granted. This one definitely stroked his ego—he actually felt as if he had earned it.

"Thank you. But I would feel much more comfortable with something to hold—something at the very least to put between the enemy's teeth and my limbs."

"I don't blame you. I'll ask Father."

He stared.

"You didn't do that before?" he asked, slightly annoyed.

"I did, actually," Melody said, "but He felt it wasn't time yet."

Seymour shook his head, not understanding. He was getting used to this cryptic explanation, however, so he simply continued on his way. They emerged from the Macalania Woods in late afternoon.

"Where are we now?" she asked, pausing beside him.

"Good question…"

He watched the various machina chasing down the fiends that were along the road.

"The area before us is the Calm Lands—a very big misnomer," he said, "the area has some of the most powerful fiends in Spira and many of the Summoners gave up their pilgrimages in these plains. And now there are machina all over the place, which I'm sure will not be the least bit of help. After that incident in Djose, they will probably come after us."

"So….no road, huh?"

"Correct."

She watched the machina go after the fiends over and over with deadly accuracy whenever they went near the road. She and Seymour moved away from the road. Holding her sketchbook open to a crude map that she and Seymour had been filling out, she traced her finger along the page, thinking. A noise caught her attention.

"What was that?"

Something orange and yellow was laying in the grass. Blood stained its feathers and it was struggling to get up and couldn't. Melody, of course, walked over to it to examine it.

"Is it a fiend?" she asked warily.

"No. This is a Chocobo. We used to ride them for transportation before all the machina airships…I'm surprised we haven't run into one until now."

"So they're big horsey-birds?"

The Chocobo stared at them warily, its clawed talon giving a little warning swipe.

"Careful," Seymour warned, "their talons are quite sharp."

Melody moved up to its head where she'd be safe from the Chocobo's claws.

"Easy there," she whispered, "you've had a rough day, haven't you."

She yelped in surprise when it tried to bite her.

"Goodness….a _very_ rough day by the sounds of it," she observed, "don't bite. It's okay, I'm going to help you."

She began to sing to it. Seymour leaned against an enormous rock wondering how he'd gotten himself into this situation. The sheer absurdity made him smile—they were in the middle of nowhere _singing_ to an animal. Melody's voice seemed to calm the creature down, however, and she gradually inched in closer where she could touch it. Placing her hands over the wound, she sealed it closed, stroking its feathers and whispering reassurances. Seymour watched the formerly done-for gigantic bird rise to its feet.

"There, see? All done!" Melody told it. She frowned as if concentrating on something, then patted the Chocobo's belly.

"What is it? Still wounded?" Seymour asked.

"No…" Melody's face lit up, "_she's_ going to be a mommy! She's all huge because the baby's going to be here soon…probably a matter of days."

The Chocobo clicked its beak and trilled, a sign of friendliness. It—she—no longer seemed frightened of Melody.

"Let's take her with us!" Melody suggested.

Seymour face-palmed.

"Melody, we've already got people looking for us," he warned, "and having a very pregnant bright yellow-orange animal that looks as if it's on the rare side now is going to attract more attention and _more_ trouble."

"Aw, come on, Seymour! If it was your mom, you wouldn't leave her, would you?"

The dark look he gave her said that she'd overstepped her bounds.

"Sorry," Melody hastily apologized, "but please? Just until the baby's born? Then we can turn them loose."

They started to walk again, still arguing about the issue. The Chocobo that they'd saved followed them.

"See? She likes the idea," Melody pointed out, stroking her beak.

"Stop _petting_ her," Seymour ground out, "you're only going to get her more attached to you and then she really won't go away!"

Melody climbed up on a rock and swung onto the Chocobo's back. Not being trained to ride, she shot forward like a bullet at the sudden weight. Melody hung on for dear life.

"WHEEEEEEEEE!" she shrieked. Seymour sighed heavily and sprinted after them. The Chocobo seemed to think it was a game, for she put on an extra burst of speed.

_I'm getting too old for this…_ Seymour thought as he started to pant. After a few minutes of not being able to catch up, he was forced to stop. Leaning against a giant boulder, he struggled to draw air into his burning lungs. He watched the pair run for a few moments, but then the animal suddenly put on the brakes. Clearly distressed by something, it spread its stumpy wings and began to flap them, sending golden feathers everywhere.

"Easy, girl, what's wrong?" Melody was hanging on for dear life, but she was pitched into the grass when the Chocobo bucked. She ran off, leaving Melody there gasping for pain. Before Seymour could reach her, they saw why. A pack of wolf-like fiends was heading straight for them. Melody drew her sword and shakily got to her feet just as Seymour caught up with her. The blood on the wolves' muzzles wasn't the least bit comforting. She slashed at them, but her sword didn't appear to be doing much damage. Seymour's magic was only slightly better and he was running low already. They stood back to back as the creatures formed a ring around them.

"Father, please help us!" Melody begged. She just barely dodged a wolf's mouth and Seymour yanked her the other way to keep her from getting a bunch of teeth in her leg.

"KWEH! KWEH!"

Melody saw the Chocobo lunge at the wolves, striking at them with her talons and beak. The wolves took advantage of this distraction by jumping on all three of them. Seymour was struggling to pry one of them off, its detestable foul breath grazing his exposed neck, when there was an earth-shattering roar.

The wolf turned its head and Seymour dislodged it with a firm hook to the jaw. It yelped and fell over, rolled, and circled back around. A blur of white streaked past—a BIG blur. That same smell that Melody carried—like the Farplane and not the Farplane all at once—filled his nostrils. The white creature resembled an enormous lion, not that anyone in Spira would know what a lion was. It was easily the size of a fully-grown Chocobo and had a faint glow to its fur. Seymour was so stunned that all he could do was sit there in the grass clutching his wounds while he watched. The wolves all turned on the lion, now an obviously bigger threat. The lion didn't seem affected in the least, however, as it easily threw them off into the grass. It let out another roar and the wolves took off, deciding that this meal wasn't worth it. Then, it turned that intense gaze on them. As it slowly padded over to where they were, Seymour noticed that its eyes were a mosaic of colors and that its fur wasn't exactly white—each strand seemed to be a different color tint. He reached around, grabbed Melody's sword, and was poised to attack it when the creature merely sat down, continuing to study him. Seymour's hand trembled slightly, but he held the sword as steadily as he could. A badly injured Melody crawled towards him.

"Seymour…" she spat out a mouthful of blood, "don't hurt him…"

"What do you suggest I do, then?" Seymour asked acidly. Out here it was kill or be killed.

"Let go of my sword," Melody insisted, her voice starting to slur.

"Why? You're in no condition to fight right now."

"Just do it…" she drew in a ragged breath. It sounded very wet, which worried him. He released his grip on the hilt and she put it back in its sheath on her belt. Then, very slowly, she crawled towards the enormous feline creature.

"Melody, what are you doing?" he asked, hoping she hadn't been Confused.

She ignored him and placed her hand over the massive creature's paw. That was when Seymour saw his first miracle.

There was no magic to it, no flashing light, no scent of magic in the air whatsoever. The minute she made contact with the white beast, her wounds were simply _gone._ Her complexion became pink again and all the matted blood in her hair vanished. The scars from earlier fiend attacks also vanished. It was as if she'd never been in a fight at all. She threw her arms around the lion suddenly and Seymour braced himself to watch her die only to see that the lion had draped one paw around her back as if it were returning the hug. Now he was _very_ confused.

"Come here, Seymour," Melody called, "it's okay—you have nothing to be scared of."

He limped towards them, his blood spraying the ground from a wound in his leg. Every step was agonizing and he only had to take six or seven of them. His strength gave out as soon as he reached the lion and the girl and he dropped into the grass.

"Seymour," Melody said lovingly, "_this_ is Father."

Seymour could only stare uncomprehendingly.

"Of course, He doesn't always look like _this,_" Melody said, "but it's one of his visiting-places forms. The kind that regular people can see."

Again, silence. The lion raised one of his massive paws and Seymour was sure it was going to strike him, but it didn't. It stayed there in the air only six inches from his face. He felt the presence of the mysterious shape-shifting creature in his mind—awe-inspiring and powerful, yet very kind. Seymour pressed his palm into the thick, rubbery pad of the lion's paw and felt something like electricity jolt through his body. The pain, the blood, and the exhaustion vanished instantly.

"Thank you," he said gratefully.

The lion continued to study them. The Chocobo trotted over, chirping. For such a skittish mount, even she didn't seem to fear this creature.

_What do I say to him? It seems wrong to just sit here and stare…but I can't think of what to say…_

He felt the presence touch his mind once more. Then, he knew what to say: "Thank you for sending Melody."

The lion almost seemed to smile.

"She has been…a great help to me…" he continued awkwardly, "…and a great companion."

An affectionate rumble came from the lion's throat. Then, he was gone. No Pyreflies, no fading, just _gone._

"Where did he go?" Seymour asked, puzzled, and even touching the thin air.

"He's still here," Melody informed him, "we just can't see Him. Oh, look! He left you a present!"

In the hollow of grass that had been pressed down where the lion had been sitting was a staff. It resembled Seymour's old one very closely except that the ornate top was white instead of red.

"It's about time!" Seymour said, grabbing it, "I was beginning to wonder if He would ever trust me with a weapon again."

Melody was grinning ear to ear.

"What?" Seymour asked, mildly annoyed.

"The way you said that…it was like you were starting to _believe_ me."

Seymour looked down at the shining staff in his hands.

"We have the ability to sense deception in some cases," Seymour finally said, "out of my entire existence, I can only name one instance in which I was tricked. Ordinarily, we can smell guilt, fear, dishonesty. I never scented it from you. Of course, that didn't necessarily mean what you said was true to everyone—it was very likely only true to you."

"Can anybody really make something like this up?" Melody asked.

"You would be surprised," Seymour said darkly, "especially when it came to Yu Yevon."

"Who's Yu Yevon?"

"That's a long story for another time. Let's get out of the sun."

She followed him. A few paces away was the Chocobo.

"I'm so glad you're still here! You need a name, don't you?" she asked. The Chocobo had noticed a patch of greens nearby and was munching away.

"You should call her 'Pain-In-The-"

"—Kevin!" Melody exclaimed, cutting Seymour's terrible joke off, "I'll call her Kevin."

"Are you sure? That's an awfully masculine-sounding name," Seymour remarked, then shrugged, "…not that it matters since we _aren't _keeping her."

"I played with a big bird like this when I was still really young," she said, ignoring Seymour's statement of not keeping 'Kevin', "except that one was kind of a bluish color. She was a mommy, too."

She walked over to the newly christened "Kevin" and hugged her as if the two had grown up together.

"How can he say no to this face, right?" Melody asked, looking into the Chocobo's big, dark, liquid eyes, "I mean, come on…he's not _that_ heartless…he _did_ save my butt numerous times even if he didn't like me very much at first. I think I've grown on him. And you will, too."

Rolling his eyes, Seymour wandered off to find some water even though he certainly could have used something stronger after the day he'd had.


	9. Chapter 9

The wait to find water was agonizing. By the time they reached the shore of a glittering pond, it was late afternoon and the light was beginning to turn soft and golden. Poor Melody was getting quite sunburned because her skin was so fair, but she tried not to pay attention to it. They boiled the water first to make sure it was safe, then Seymour taught Melody the Blizzard spell so that they could have cold drinks. The wetness eased the dry ache in his throat and his raspy voice soon resumed its tenor smoothness. Kevin drank straight from the pond before going off in search of tasty seeds.

"I wonder if we should tie her up," Melody said.

Seymour's response surprised her:

"Leave her be. If we haven't gotten rid of her by now, she'll never leave. Not to mention she'll need to be able to run if we're attacked again. She can't fight if she's tied."

Melody nodded.

"I don't think she'd like it anyway."

Both of them were sore and tired from fighting fiends on the way up here. While Melody's physical fighting and magic were both improving, she was still taking quite a beating. Then there had been the Al Bhed machina to deal with—they were trying to learn how to dismantle the annoyances, but they usually ended up blasting them apart with lightning out of frustration. Here, though, there seemed to be far fewer of them. Since night was coming, Seymour hoped they would have some peace. They were in the open, unfortunately, and the stretch of the Calm Lands went on for _days._ He didn't want to think about what might happen if anyone tracked them here, so he pushed it away from his mind. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on one's perspective—Melody distracted him. He saw her tug her dress up over her head. Before he could ask what in the Farplane she was doing, she cannon-balled into the water and threw a wave of crystalline droplets down the front of his robes. Seymour jumped up, startled and aptly soaked. She resurfaced after a second, blue-black curls plastered flat.

"Ah…nice in here. You should join me," she said, shivering a bit.

"It looks a bit cold," he observed.

"You big baby!" she shuddered a little bit more, but seemed determined to prove a point, "You come all this way looking for water and you won't even enjoy it!"

He crossed his arms and gave her a Look—the kind of look an adult gives a child when they're not pleased.

"BABY!" Melody yelled accusingly. Kevin's head snapped up, her beak full of some kind of greens.

"Will you please be quiet? You'll attract every fiend in a five-mile radius!" Seymour hissed.

"Baby!" Melody hissed back.

The biggest sigh she'd ever seen heaved out of his ribs. He tugged the fastenings on the front of his robes open and shrugged his shoulders and arms out. Not really the kind of guy who treasured swimming in his underwear, he tied his sleeves around his waist so that he ended up with a long pseudo-kilt. If something happened, he could always get the upper part of the robe back on in a hurry. The cape that Melody had gotten for him was crumpled up inside his bag, forgotten long ago due to the heat. He tugged his feet out of his boots and waded in. The chill surprised him—he wasn't sure how the water could be _this_ cold. Perhaps it was simply the contrast. Either way, he felt every muscle in his body tightening up as he forced himself to go in up to his neck.

"There. Satisfied?" he asked. Melody shook her head.

"You're not all the way wet yet."

She grabbed hold of him and yanked him under before he could protest. Thrashing around, he tried to escape her grip only for her to let go of him quite suddenly. A stream of water blew out from between his lips with a noisy "PFFFFF!"

"I baptize you in the name of the Lord," Melody said smugly. Seymour was too busy trying to get the water out of his mouth and nose at first to ask her what she had been thinking. Then, he saw it. The white lion from earlier was sitting some distance away, but there was no mistaking its size or color. He had just registered his presence when the great lion vanished again.

"Is this always what it's like? Drowning people?" Seymour demanded, wiping his face with his hand, "it seems rather contradictory to bring me back from the dead just to kill me again."

"Nobody ever died from being baptized," Melody responded, "and anyway, you were supposed to hold your breath."

"My _apologies,_" he snapped, though it was a bit more playful sounding than he intended. She swam in a circle around him.

"Now that I'm used to the cold, it's kind of nice in here," Melody sighed, "it makes my skin numb."

Seymour was fortunate that Guado skin—even half Guado—was less vulnerable to the elements than human skin. His tanned browner, taking on the subtle wood-grain pattern of his father's race. He both liked and despised it all at once. He had never given much thought to his appearance, but now he imagined how wild he must look. Worse, the horn-like locks that had once protruded from either side of his head were starting to grow back. Though they were no longer than the rest of his hair as of yet, they still stuck up and wouldn't stay flat for long. His robes despite being newer were already dusty and torn. Being washed here in the pond would make a marginal difference, but not much of one.

"What's on your mind?" Melody asked, seeing the distance growing in his pale lavender eyes.

"I was just wondering…" he shook his head. It was that insecure shake that someone gives when what they want to say seems stupid to them.

"Go on," Melody prompted. Looking down at the water rippling just below his collarbone, Seymour gathered his courage.

"I was wondering if I'm doomed to roam Spira forever," Seymour confessed, "if I must always wake up somewhere else every day. I had hoped to return to Guadosalam, maybe invite you to stay as my guest if you were so inclined. Now…I feel hopelessly lost."

It was the closest she'd ever come to hearing him give a voice to what was really in his heart. Looking all around them at the waving grasses, the wild Chocobo herds that sprinted past in plumes of brilliant yellow, and the distant mountains, Seymour felt very small. In the past, he'd always viewed himself as a force to be reckoned with, both in mind, in body, and in power. But now, he was beginning to see just how small he really was. The world had gone on without him—quite well, in fact.

"You won't be forever," Melody informed him, "half the reason we're taking this little road trip is to help you find a home."

"And the rest?" he inquired cautiously.

"To save your soul," she responded, "by showing you how much better it is to value life over death."

She floated on her back, gazing up at the big, empty sky. To Seymour, it was empty save for the white and gray clouds. To her, however, any number of things might be up there. She always seemed to see things that weren't there, or at least weren't readily visible to him.

"How do you do it? How do you feel such certainty in everything?" he asked.

"Because I have no reason to worry," Melody answered, "Father has never given me reason to doubt Him. It's so much better to have _something_ to hang onto, _something_ that gives you hope. Everything else is negotiable after that. We're not guaranteed tomorrow, but we _are_ promised an eternity."

She had her eyes closed. He watched the beads of water on her face, her bare ribs as she breathed, bobbing gently on the water's surface. Her simple black undergarments were even more conservative than most of the bathing suits the girls wore here on Spira. She was the picture of serenity right now. It was odd that he, a man and a former Maester, would wish he had her confidence in this moment. The only thing she lacked was a flower in her hair like some of the lilies that grew at the water's edge. He toyed with idea of picking one, but he never did for some reason. Maybe it was that he was too comfortable on the rock he was sitting on while he watched his robes billowing out in the waves. Maybe it was because he was too tired or just too lazy. He never did figure out why, though he would ask himself that question later.

Evening began to creep up on them. Both of them having played a few childish games like chase were even more tired and now very water-logged by the time they got out. Melody had thankfully practiced her Fire spell and was drying off by turning the water to steam. It didn't feel great on the sunburns, but it was effective. Seymour did the same before they decided to pack it in for the night.

"I don't think it would be wise to start a fire here," he said as the last bit of twilight faded them into soft blue hues, "the machina sensors would detect it."

"Okay," she said reluctantly. Their dinner was frugal and cold, consisting of leftovers and plain water, but it filled them up at least. Melody was too tired to be ungrateful for it and fell asleep promptly. Seymour had to stifle a smile when he saw Melody curling up under one of Kevin's wings.

"Good night," he said quietly. He didn't particularly want to, but he took the first watch. Now that he was full, he had a difficult time staying awake. The situation was remedied for a little while when his bladder started to fill up from drinking so much and he paced back and forth, trying to use the discomfort to his advantage. When he couldn't stand it anymore, he walked away to relieve the pressure. The unwelcome drowsiness soon came back with a vengeance coupled with his newly relaxed body and he sagged against a nearby tree trunk. There were so few trees out here that even a little one like this was a rarity, but they always grew near water. He told himself that he would just rest his back against its sturdy little trunk, but he eventually slumped into the grass. It couldn't have been more than two or three hours and his companion needed more sleep than that…he knew she'd have trouble staying awake without her beloved coffee which they'd run out of a few days ago. He pinched himself and tried to sit upright, but his body began to buckle under the weight of his exhaustion. His pale lavender eyes began to slide closed. Soon, despite his enormous efforts to keep awake, his chin sagged to his knees and he was soon fast asleep. He was unaware of the creeping shadows, of the dart that hit Kevin in the hindquarters. Perhaps the only saving grace to his freedom was that his indistinct shape in the faint starlight resembled that of a boulder or that the intruders to their peaceful little campsite were in a big hurry.

When Seymour woke, morning had come cool and pale. Ashamed that he'd fallen asleep despite trying so hard not to, he shivered and tugged his robes in closer. For being such a hot day, things had cooled off fast! He stretched the stiffness out of his body and rose. Turning to where Kevin and Melody had been the night before, he froze mid-stretch, bewildered. The air whooshed out of his lungs before it caught painfully in his chest. There was a big flattened circle where Kevin's body had rested and a lingering yellow feather there, but no Kevin. Both their packs were gone, as was his guardian. Seymour noticed something glinting in the grass and moved to pick it up. It was an empty syringe with a faint trace of blood on the needle. By the musky smell, it was not Melody's, but Kevin's. Trying to silence the growing hysteria in his mind, Seymour sniffed the air like a bloodhound. The cold steely traces of machinery were present, as were the distinct scents of three male youths. His blood began to boil. The age that he detected them to be was either late adolescence or early adulthood when testosterone and stupidity abounded. In the old days, he would emit a strong sulphuric scent that would warn anyone too close to flee just before a barrage of random black spells would go in all directions. It was the only way he'd been able to vent his rage before he'd learned to control his emotions so tightly. That smell was coming out of him strongly and his pupils had dilated when he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. He was about to blast whatever it was apart with a Firaga spell when he noticed that it was white. Lowering his flaming hands, Seymour realized it was that lion again.

"My apologies," he said quietly, letting the flames licking his fingers go out completely, "I did not realize it was you."

The lion stood patiently, regarding him with an expression that Seymour did not like. He felt like one of those nude drawings in an art book, or perhaps the anatomy charts in a biology book. He felt like this creature was seeing his insides—past the skin, the muscle, and the viscera into his soul. It made him horribly uncomfortable.

"I don't know where Melody is," he said, squirming awkwardly, "I smell the exhaust from an airship, but it's hours old. I don't even know where to begin…I don't know where they took her."

The lion's gaze was steady. It wasn't the least bit accusatory, though it still penetrated.

"I don't know why or how it happened…I'm sorry. I never meant to lose her."

The lion didn't move or even blink. Other than its sides moving gently with each breath, it didn't give any acknowledgements. It continued to stare steadily into his eyes.

"You know where she is, don't you? Aren't you going to help her?" Seymour demanded suddenly, losing his patience. The lion was as still as a statue. He felt his frustrations welling up again.

"If not, will you at least tell me where she is so that _I_ can help her? I owe her that much," Seymour demanded.

The lion finally moved. It twitched its tail and tilted its head in a _this way_ gesture. Seymour chased after it, getting winded quickly because the lion was flat out sprinting. If it got too far ahead of Seymour, it would pause just long enough for him to sort of get caught up. This went on for at least half an hour. They reached a cave that Seymour didn't like the looks of, but he followed the lion's paintbrush-like tail inside anyway. He couldn't see a thing and was fumbling around in the dark when there was a flare of light that blinded him. A chorus of gasps followed and the last thing he felt was a sharp pain in his neck before he went unconscious.

"Never thought I'd see _him_ again, ya?"

"I wonder what on earth he was chasing. He seemed to be running awfully fast for someone with no place to go."

"Well, he's definitely not going anywhere now. I've made _sure_ of it. Yunie's going to get rid of him once and for all."

"We still don't know where his companion went. And that's going to cause trouble if she catches up to us."

Seymour blinked against the bright light. Then, his stomach heaved and he threw up very violently. Several cries of disgust chorused around him.

"Must be a reaction to the sedative…probably should have used magic…"

"He's immune to it, remember?"

Seymour coughed weakly and some kind soul mopped away the vomit dribbling down his chin. He couldn't seem to move his arms or legs and he'd barely turned his head to the side in time—his whole body felt _stuck_ somehow. The overpowering stench of lemon-scented disinfectant quickly drowned out the bitter sick smell as his eyes began to adjust to the fluorescent brightness. He was in a very sterile-looking interior that was similar to a hospital room and laying on a bed that held him bound at the wrists, across his chest/stomach region, and around his legs to where he couldn't move no matter how much he tried. All around him were several very unfriendly faces, most of which he recognized and a few that he didn't. Seymour knew immediately that he was in _very _serious trouble. He first noticed the spike of orangey-hued hair and tanned skin because they were so bright. To the right of that was a dark bun stuck through with chopstick-like hair adornments and several long dark braids. Then there was a mop of strawberry-blonde hair with glaring green eyes that had spiral-shaped pupils. One he didn't recognize was a silver-haired girl with all-black attire—not that he'd want to cross her if he could help it. Notably absent was the red-garbed samurai-like man, the blue-furred Ronso with silver hair, and the spiky-haired blonde youth with the big mouth. Seymour thought about asking where _they_ were, but his tongue seemed glued to the roof of his mouth for the moment. He felt sluggish and hazy as if he were caught in some nightmare.

Then, the tapping of boots on the tiled floor and the sweet lavender-like smell marred with gunpowder got his attention.

_This cannot be…_ he thought faintly. His vision actually blurred a little before it cleared again. A fifth face had joined the others and this one he knew the best out of all of them. Framed by chocolate-colored hair, pale with disbelief that echoed his own, her mismatched one-blue-and-one-green eye stared down into his dazed lavender ones.

"Lady Yuna…" he gasped hoarsely, throat still stinging from the acid. A sharp pain in the side of his face caused his vision to blossom into lovely shades of red and orange just before blackness claimed him. He was unaware of the trickle of blood that threaded down his lip or the nasty bruise that would later form on his tanned skin.

Yuna rubbed her small fist and hoped her impulsive moment wouldn't prove to have hurt her worse than him. It was so rare that she lost her temper like this that everyone was staring open-mouthed at her. Thankfully, they were smart enough not to comment and left well enough alone.

"My staff," she said curtly. Wakka handed it to her as quickly as he could and nearly dropped it in his eagerness. She took the long rodlike object in her hands and began to dance. It wasn't as smooth and calm and graceful as it had once been—after all this time, she was out of practice—but it was well enough. Confident that she would be rid of Seymour Guado once more, she poured her concentration into the task at hand. What she didn't notice at first was that his Pyreflies weren't appearing and his body wasn't breaking up. About halfway through, her fury was replaced with puzzlement, then finally fear. Absolutely nothing had changed—Seymour still lay there unconscious from the hit. His ribs continued to rise and fall evenly.

"Why isn't he going away?!" she asked, her voice sounding more high-pitched and hysterical than she meant.

"I don't know…" Wakka replied. It was then that _he_ acted on impulse. He pressed his fingers into Seymour's throat and drew back, paling, as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Whoah! He has a _pulse!_ Yuna, he's alive!"

Yuna's face went from pale to ashen.

"That….can't be…"

She pressed the heel of her hand hard into Seymour's chest. As much as she didn't want to believe it, the evidence was right there: a hard throb against her palm.

"But he was dead! We killed him, what, three times?!" Rikku asked incredulously.

"Four," Yuna said grimly, "and I Sent him the last time…"

She sagged to the floor suddenly, all her strength gone. They had been trying to track Seymour down for ages now and the end result was that she couldn't Send him after all.

"So what? We kill him again?" a cool voice asked from across the room. It was one of the Al-Bhed crew that had been present at the destruction of Home. Gina had no lost love for the Guado and had even aided the Ronso in helping wipe them out. She'd repented of her ways somewhere along the line, but she still didn't have qualms about executions.

"Ordinarily, I'd argue with you on that, but I just don't know…" Wakka murmured.

"Perhaps we should wait until he comes around and find out what he knows," Lulu suggested, "if someone is bringing back the dead, what is to stop them from bringing back Sin?"

Yuna shuddered. She didn't want to think about such a possibility. She had defeated Sin—and Yu Yevon himself—by killing _everyone._ She'd had to kill every last one of her Aeons which was painful. She'd had to kill Sir Jecht in a way. She'd even indirectly contributed to Tidus's end because his entire existence was tied to that of the sleeping Fayth. Once they were allowed to stop dreaming, Tidus had faded away forever.

_This wasn't part of the deal…I beat Sin for good…I gave up so much for Spira…for everyone…why is this happening?!_

But she drew herself upright, refusing to be weak. Those days were _over._

"We will," she said firmly, "Rikku? Feel like testing out that anti-magic thing you were working on?"

"On it!" Her Al-Bhed cousin cheerfully sprinted off to retrieve the heavy black bracelet that they were testing and brought it back within a minute or two. She snapped it onto Seymour's wrist with a smug smile.

"I'd like to see him Thundaga his way out of _this!_" she said with gleeful vengeance.

"And if he does," Lulu said, watching the sparks of magic gather in her own palm, "_we'll_ be ready."

While Seymour was dealing with one of the worst headaches of his life on board the airship, he was unaware that he and Melody had passed right by each other. On a separate airship, the guardian angel woke bound and gagged in what could only be a cargo hold. Kevin was missing and so was Seymour. She felt disoriented and fuzzy.

"Well…you were a bit of a challenge to track down," said a soft, yet very threatening voice, "I do hope you'll be a good girl for us. It would be a shame to spend the remainder of your trip down here—it's so degrading."

Melody blinked and noticed a man kneeling in front of her. There was something that seemed oddly familiar about him, but she couldn't place him. He had chin-length honey-colored hair and blue eyes.

"Do I know you?" she asked drowsily. The man chuckled.

"Not yet. But you will. You can call me William."

He glanced up at his two very burly guards.

"Let's take her upstairs, shall we? I doubt she'll give us any trouble."

They hoisted Melody off the floor and took her to a tiny bedroom that was no larger than a jail cell.

"What do you want?" Melody asked when they plopped her unceremoniously on the bed.

"I was there during that massive fiend attack," William responded, "and just before it, I heard you sing. You haven't the slightest idea of what goes on around you when you sing, do you?"

Melody shrugged.

"There was a man in that crowd that was fatally ill—dying, in fact," William explained, "and you _healed _ him. You were completely unaware of it, but he brushed past you and his illness vanished."

"How do you know it was me?" she asked. She wasn't that into spending any more time with William than she had to—she could smell the sin on him.

"Because _I_ was that man," William said with a big smile, "I was the one you saved. And the time has come now to repay that favor. We have to share your gift with all of Spira."

"That's a nice thought," Melody responded, "but someone else needs me right now and I really need to get back to him. He was under my care, you see."

"I'm sure he'll manage," William responded, "besides…I can't possibly let you slip away now. You're a very special woman and we need you."

"For what?" Melody asked, starting to feel a little sweaty.

"For the Via Infinito," he responded, "we know you can do more than just heal people. We know you can bring them _back._"

"H-how?" she asked shakily.

"Because…one of my crew was down there that night…poor bugger never made out, but we found his sphere. He recorded _everything._"

Melody gulped, her face going pale.

"Please, Mr. William…I can't…I can only do that when Father says its okay…"

"But now you work for me," William said quietly, "no objections. I see that you're treated well and that you have all you need. In return…"

He leaned in close so that Melody could still smell the cigar smoke on his breath:

"…I keep Maester Seymour's renewed existence a secret from Spira. Sound good to you?"

Melody gulped again.

"And if I say no?" she asked tremulously.

"Then we kill him and you'll stay with us anyway," William shrugged, "you may as well go with it. At least you'll get something _you_ want. It's nothing to me whether that bastard lives or dies. All the magic in the world won't save him from a bullet in the brain."

Melody was crying silently as he offered her the clipboard to sign. She noticed, oddly enough, that the ink in the pen was bright red.

"Now…get some rest. We're going to have a lot of work to do," William said, almost sing-song-like. He snapped his fingers and the goons followed him out. Melody heard the door slam closed and the lock click.

_Please, Father…watch over Seymour and please don't let these men be able to use my power for bad stuff…_ she prayed, _please let Seymour be all right wherever he is…_


End file.
